In the Blink of an Eye
by DirtyFox2
Summary: After a bad shoot Sam Braddock is shaken to the core. His friend's and teammates help bring him back. This story takes place near the start of season 4, not 3 as I said in the chapter itself.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Okay so I haven't gotten to season five yet therefore this is just happening at some point near the start of season 3 after Jules and Sam reconnect. Hope you guys enjoy it._

With every punch thrown and every shot landed he hoped to be just a little more at ease. He smashed his fists into the bag, throwing all his weight behind each haymaker. They were not precise, well-practiced strikes, but the attacks of a man burdened by rage. Sweat pooled upon his brow before it ran freely down his cheeks. It dripped from his nose and chin, leaving droplets on the floor below. His feet shuffled over each fallen bit as he bobbed and weaved around his imaginary opponent, continuously unloading with heavy blows. He grunted with every attack and the bag swung back and forth wildly from his violent assault.

He could feel an aching sensation overcoming his muscles. His shoulders felt increasingly numb from the exertion and his lungs burned from the lack of oxygen. But he continued, undaunted. He had to expel this anger—the immense disappointment that welled up inside him. On and on he went punching, shuffling, snorting and rasping for air. It seemed like hours since he began yet his energy waned only slightly and the fury was there—it would not leave him. This had always worked in the past, whether it had been stress over a mission in Afghanistan or a rough call since he'd joined the SRU, the heavy bag always sorted out his emotions. But not now.

"You doing all right, Sam?" the paternal voice of Sergeant Parker chimed in, intruding upon his berserker tirade. Sam Braddock set agitated blue eyes on Team One's Sergeant and chief negotiator. He must have been watching the display for some time, an expression of disquiet was etched upon his face.

Sam's chest was still heaving as his lungs tried to catch up to his heart. "Yeah… yeah I'm good, boss," he assured Parker.

Parker, ever the profiler, didn't buy it. "Are you sure?" It was a fine line to walk; Sam was obviously distressed and Sergeant Gregory Parker knew why, but he couldn't force the issue with his subordinate. Sam had his own way of dealing with the stresses of the job and God knows he'd had plenty of practice, but this time was different and everyone in Team One knew it. Parker had a responsibility to Sam—to everyone in his team.

"I'm good, Sarge. I promise," Sam reiterated unconvincingly.

It was obvious that Sam was not open to talking with his boss just yet. Reluctantly Parker relented. He nodded and acknowledged Sam's emotional affirmation that he was fine. Worried eyes traced Sam's exodus from the gym toward the locker room, a sweat-stained white towel thrown over one equally sweaty shoulder. Every step was labored and his stature was burdened by an invisible weight. It was clear to Parker that the afternoon's events weighed heavily upon the young Afghan veteran.

"How's he doing?" Team One's tactical leader Ed Lane appeared suddenly beside his old friend. He joined the Sergeant's studious gaze just long enough to notice Sam's strained gait before he disappeared in the locker room.

"Not well. He was beating on that bag for a while. I thought he was going to bring the roof down," Parker admitted with a sniff.

"Can't blame him. Terrible what happened today," Ed expressed in an even tone. They had all experienced their own bad situations and had been forced to endure the emotional fallout that followed. Ed was particularly talented in that department, at least outwardly. He was the consummate professional and a veteran of the Strategic Response Unit. The other team members cued off his demeanor and more often than not the only one astute enough to notice something was amiss with the salty veteran was his friend and colleague Sergeant Parker.

"Well, he's not talking to me," Parker said. "Keep an eye on him for me, would you?"

"Of course."

"All right, I'll see you tomorrow," Parker asserted with a nod and one last glance at the locker room door.

"Boss," Lane affirmed simply and watched as Parker headed for the front door. He disappeared in the late night air beyond and Ed glanced at his own watch to confirm just how late it was. Ten o'clock. He missed dinner again; the unfortunate reality of his occupation.

Sam's eyes locked on pictures taped on his locker door. Most of them were from Afghanistan and consisted of the men he'd shared the dangers of direct action with in a country so miserable it was hard to understand if you had never been. He'd experienced an entire gamut of emotions while serving with Joint Task Force 2; there had been overwhelming joy, excitement, fear, apprehension, sadness from tragedy and loss and more. Yet none of it prepared him for today and how he felt now. He didn't know how to confront the feelings that were manifesting inside him—burning into his entire being. He just wished he could turn back time or wake up from what had to be a horrible nightmare.

He pulled a fresh t-shirt on and shut the door, but remained in place for a moment gazing at the bare steel exterior of his locker as if lost in the day's events. He never had flashbacks or nightmares. In every transition class he'd ever gotten when he was leaving the Army they told him all the signs and symptoms of post-traumatic stress. Nightmares and flashbacks were two of many, but he learned very early that such things never set upon him. He was a natural soldier, the kind of guy that could rationalize any bad event and make sense out of the chaos of war. There was only one other time he'd felt so shaken and lost… another mistake that he had made that cost him his best friend. That was a terrible burden, one he still carried today. Now, however, he had something wholly different to contend with and he didn't know how.

"Sam…" Ed's voice broke his reverie and he was half-startled by the sudden appearance of his team leader. Ed was looking at him with hard features trying desperately to look passive. Ed Lane was a good man, the stern sort of man that treated you with firmness and fairness. He could open up with someone, whether it was a teammate or a subject when he had to, but he was always better at playing the tough team leader. "How are you holding up buddy?"

Sam's bleary blue eyes fixated on an obviously concerned team leader. Ed seemed uncomfortable as if he recognized the mixed emotions stirring inside Sam and was concerned with how they would manifest in him. "Not so good," Sam admitted.

"You want to talk about it?" Ed offered congenially. He was in no hurry to abandon his younger comrade. A man's greatest enemy could be the thoughts stirring around in his own head.

Sam lifted his kit bag and slung it over his shoulder. "I don't think so."

"Sam you can't keep this stuff inside you," Ed persisted. The serious expression upon his face betrayed his unease. Sam was always rock solid. He'd had his share of stumbles here and there, but they all did.

"I screwed up today," Sam offered simply. A frown crossed his young face; a faint sheen of perspiration still remained from his workout.

"You did what you had to do. It was the right call… just a bad outcome. We don't always get perfect scores out there, Sam. You know that," Ed insisted in a soft tone.

Sam bit his lower lip and remained silent for a time as he thought. "It shouldn't have happened. I'm trained for this. I've got more time behind the scope than anyone on this team," he grunted unhappily. "You guys rely on me; the people of this city rely on me to be my very best every time I pick up a rifle. But I screwed up."

"We're not superheroes, Sam. We make mistakes. It's part of being human."

"After assessment and selection… during all the training they put us through to make the team they told us how they'd push us beyond human limits, train us to be more precise and more skilled than the average person so we could accomplish the impossible," Sam explained. He sniffed the stale locker room air as he struggled inwardly to arrange his thoughts. "This would not be a suitable outcome. Not for my old unit, not for the SRU."

"Sam…" Ed muttered as the young man began to leave.

"I'm going home," was his only reply.

"If you need anything… you don't hesitate to call me. Okay?" Ed expressed seriously. His blue eyes locked on Sam's and there was a pleading evident there deep within. It was rarely seen with Ed Lane, the stoic sentinel, but Sam could see it now as plain as day. The old veteran reached out and clapped a firm hand on Sam's shoulder. "I'm serious."

"I know," Sam agreed. "I'll be okay. Promise."


	2. Chapter 2

**Six Hour Earlier…**

"Where is it?" His voice was shaky and filled with a madness she recognized. "What did you do with it?" He stomped toward her, fury in his bloodshot eyes. He wasn't the man she'd fallen in love with a year before; the demon inside him had taken over once more.

"I got rid of it—it's gone!" she yelled back, doing her best to sound defiant and strong amidst the whirlwind.

"I told you not to do that again," he seethed. He stopped short of her, his chest heaving. His fists were clenched at his side and he was shaking noticeably. Sweat glimmered on his splotchy skin and he constantly licked at his lips. His brown hair was mussed as if he had just woken up but with the same perspiration that covered his face.

"You told me this was going to stop," she responded, crossing her arms defensively. He had gotten violent before and she only hoped he wouldn't now. But the drugs could cloud anyone's judgment.

"I never said that—I said… I said give me some time," he blurted, scratching at his skin and looking around the small apartment's interior. "So where is it?" he demanded again.

"I flushed it down the toilet, James," she told him unevenly.

"What?" he yelled. He stomped forward and grabbed her by the wrist, she resisted and he threw her across the room into the nearby table. She smashed into it, knocking some of the plates and glasses she had attempted to set for dinner onto the ground. They shattered and she could feel herself choking up.

"Don't you touch me!" she shouted as her eyes started to tear up. She swore she'd never let him touch her again. He came surging forward again, blinded by his aggression and his appetite to be sated. She reached back and gripped a steak knife.

"You better be lying to me. I want it and I want it now," he demanded, still not believing that she'd flush his stash. She had to know what that was doing to him.

"I told you I flushed it. If you buy more I'll flush that too. You promised me," she exclaimed, holding back her urge to cry. He surged forward again in another tumultuous stampede. She reached back and clutched a steak knife on the table. He grabbed her by the arm and with immense force he brought his other open palm across her face. She didn't hesitate, not this time, she had to act. She was protecting more than herself now.

She yanked the knife from its place on the shabby table cloth and drove it into his shoulder screaming as she struck. He howled from the pain and his grip on her relinquished. She stumbled clear of his wailing as he flailed about trying to grab at the knife. She stumbled forward but his enraged vision set on her trying to escape. He shoved her forward and she cascaded into the ground and began to crawl forward, sobbing now as she desperately sought relief from his onslaught. "You bitch!" he shrieked, clutching the knife's handle and yanking on it. It wouldn't budge and the pain of trying to dislodge was nearly unbearable. He ran over to the cabinet nearby and drew something he'd stolen weeks before. He brandished it without thought, only his appetite fueled his thinking now.

He pointed the firearm at her, a Beretta 92FS 9mm pistol. "My mother put you up to this, Katie?" he questioned angrily. She clamored to her feet and put her back against the wall, sliding along it as her knees weakened from the fear. Had he lost his mind? She knew the drug could create paranoia but he hadn't spoken to his mother in a long time and she had never met the woman.

Fearing what might happen she ran. She had nowhere to go, being trapped in the hallway with James blocking her only route to the front door. So she escaped to their bedroom; the door had a lock on it and maybe that would be enough. She could hide there until he came down and was more sensible. As she ran she heard the loud boom of the pistol discharging. She yelled from the terror—he was shooting at her! He fired two rounds, both of which missed and struck the dry wall she had been leaning against. Her ears rang from the gunshot. She dashed into the bedroom and slammed the door then frantically locked it. Tears ran freely now, she couldn't control her sobbing.

"Katie!" he screamed shrilly from the hall. The door rumbled as he shook the knob and tried to force his way in. "Open the door, Katie," he yelled. She stumbled backward into the bed, her lips quivering from terror mixed with sadness. The man she loved had lost his mind to his addiction and gone further than he ever had in the past. The door jolted suddenly as James threw all his weight into it, hoping to batter it down.

Katie was startled, terrified. What would he do if got in? It was so much worse than before. She ran to the phone and scooped it up in a panic. She dropped it on the floor and reached down for it just as James smashed into the door once again. She yelped from the frightening sound. She managed to gather up the phone and dial 911.

_"911 what is your emergency?"_

"Please… please you have to help me," she pleaded between tears. "My fiancée is angry and he's got a gun and he's going to hurt me."

_"Ma'am, please remain calm. I need your address. What is your address ma'am?"_ the operator questioned just James smashed into the door again.

The operator listened intently, but could hear only sobbing. Again she asked the woman for her location and attempted to calm her down soothing, reassuring words she had been trained to use in moments of emergency and panic. "I live in Moss Park."

Her information was cut off suddenly as the operator heard only a terrified scream followed by a gunshot. _"Ma'am? Ma'am, hello? Are you still there?"_ There was no reply and then the line went dead.

"Team One, hot call, hot call. Shots fired in Moss Park," Winnie announced over the intercom that echoed throughout the entire SRU facility.

"Let's go Team One," Ed Lane announced over the sound of the blaring alarm as the team scrambled from their various activities to get to the response room where they would don their kit and load their weapons. "Get suited and booted."

"What have we got?" Sergeant Parker asked Winnie through his earpiece as he crammed it into his ear.

"Domestic in Moss Park, still trying to pin down the exact location," Winnie exclaimed shortly.

"All right, just feed me in route," Parker told her as he hefted his bulletproof jacket on and donned his black cap.

"Let's go, people, move it!" Ed Lane's familiar command voice boomed inside the response room.

"Never a dull a moment," Michelangelo "Spike" Scarlatti said with a smirk.

"If every day was a dull one you wouldn't have a job," Ed told him as he slung his Heckler and Koch MP5 submachine gun.

"True and I don't suppose you would either. And I can't think of a scarier thing than a world where Ed Lane doesn't have a team to bark orders at," Spike cracked back.

"Very funny, let's go," Ed insisted. Spike gave a nod and followed behind Sam Braddock and Julianna Callaghan as they jogged their way out of the response room and toward the garage where their vehicles were stored.

"Wordy, let's go," Ed pressed the last team member in the room.

Kevin Wordsworth was just strapping on his own MP5 SMG and putting his earpieces in its place in his ear. Lane had noticed the normally stalwart officer had been moving a bit slower and performing a bit sluggishly of late. "I got it, I got it," Wordy responded slightly irritated by Lane's grumbling.

Wordy followed in the direction the others had gone leaving Ed as the last Team One member in the room. He glanced around the interior of the cage one last time then took off after the others.

What would today bring?


	3. Chapter 3

"Sarge, 911 reports the call came from a terrified woman in Moss Park stating her fiancée had a firearm and was going to hurt her. The operator was unable to get any further information besides that, but did hear the woman scream and a single gunshot before the line went dead," Winnie exclaimed over comms to Sergeant Parker as the team rushed to the scene. "They're trying to figure out exactly which building the call came from."

"Okay thanks, Winnie. Keep me posted on any additional information," Parker replied as he drove the SRU's Suburban at exceedingly high speeds. His vehicle was in the lead of a trio of similar trucks that Team One used most often; one was an identical Suburban and the other was the SRU's tactical response truck. "All right team listen up we have at least one active shooter and a possible hostage that may me be injured on scene. Local police are still trying to verify the exact location where the call emanated, but as soon as we arrive on scene I want you moving fast. There's no telling if the subject has shot the hostage or not so I want tactical options right away so we can move as soon as we have a location."

"Copy that, boss."

"Roger."

"No problem, Sarge." The various voices echoed through his earpiece.

Three apartment towers, vaguely V-shaped in design, reached up from the shady eves provided by the dozens of red and black oak trees interspersed with basswoods and American elms. Police cars were already onsite directing foot traffic away from the western-most complex and attempting to set their own cordon of the area by covering the entrances into the multi-storied buildings. The call had gone out and everyone knew the drill; they were dealing with a barricaded subject that had at least one possible hostage. The goal was to contain the subject now and wait for the Strategic Response Unit.

Moss Park, given its name for the all the moss that covered the old Allen family estate that had once covered the area, was known in Toronto as a downtrodden neighborhood and the three buildings that dominated the skyline were known as low-income housing run by the Toronto Community Housing Corporation. Despite recent gentrification of the area and ample refurbishment in the surrounding neighborhoods the target complexes themselves were still quite poor and thought to be dangerous places to loiter.

The three SRU vehicles arrived on the scene, low-profile lights illuminated and sirens blaring. Each officer piled out of their cars as Sergeant Gregory Parker quickly made his way over to one of the nearest uniformed police officers. "Which building are we looking at?" he asked hopefully.

"That one there," the officer said pointing at the western most building of the trio. "911 ran a trace on the call. Ninth floor, apartment 910. I've got uniforms posted at almost every exit. We've got more help coming so we should be able to have this place locked down shortly for you."

"Okay, thanks." Gregory said, acknowledging the officer's help. "Spike, I need you in the truck."

"Already here, boss," Spike replied with a smile. "910 is a small one bedroom apartment on the ninth floor just as the man said… located on the east side of the complex."

"Good work, Spike. Ed I want a direct action plan ASAP," Parker delegated his team seamlessly; with as much experience as he had much of the action could be classified as routine, yet it was a constant battle over that same routine to ensure that complacency never set in—because no two calls were ever alike.

"Copy that, boss," Ed responded. "Sam, see if you can get a good perch on that rooftop there. Once you're set and have eyes on I want to know what you see. Wordy, Jules, you're with me let's move." Ed was directing Sam to the next building over from the most western one. If Sam could get on the rooftop of the building he could provide solid overwatch of the target apartment assuming the curtains were not drawn.

Sam rogered up his orders and sprinted back over to the truck to trade his MP5 Submachine gun for a Remington 700 rifle he favored for long-distance engagements. He'd also be grabbing a separate kit bag that was packed specifically for when he assumed the sniper mantle. Inside the bag he had his data book, binoculars, a spotting scope, additional ammunition, medical kit, and a laser range finder for accurate range identification in order to facilitate accurate adjustments on his rifle's Leupold Mark 4 ER/T variable scope. The bag itself was designed to act as a hasty rifle rest in order for him to take up a more stable firing position once he occupied his perch.

Ed hastily made way for the western-most complex followed by Jules and Wordy. All around them they could see police officers getting people clear of the building. There were already some inside going door to door and informing people to stay inside their homes; it was standard operating procedure for a barricaded subject. The last thing the SRU needed was random civilians moving about inside the hallways—it put the team and those individuals at risk.

Like most of the calls they received there was a severe contrast between the exterior of a location and the emergencies that took place within. Despite Moss Park being considered a bad neighborhood the trees and well-kept grass in the courtyard before the buildings lent a serene, park like atmosphere to the area. Such a sight was disarming and each officer steeled themselves for the reality contained on the ninth floor in apartment 910. Still, the flashing lights of nearby police cars and an ambulance that had just arrived on scene offered the bizarre juxtaposition of a serene park like atmosphere that had become the location of a possible homicide.

Parker burst into the command truck to join Spike there who was busy at work behind his computer. "Let's see if we can find out who lives inside apartment 910," Parker said as he joined his computer expert and EOD technician.

"Got it," Spike replied, hastily going to work on his laptop. "Landlord records say the apartment is rented out to a couple—James Webley and Katie Moore. They've been there for about seven months; there are a few notes on their files. Apparently there have been repeated noise complaints and a lot of arguing going on inside the apartment."

"Let's see if Mr. Webley has any priors," Parker continued.

"Checking now…" Spike muttered as his fingers tapped away quickly at the keys on the laptop. "Yes, our boy did some time for possession and assault. They were his first offenses so the judge sentenced him to rehabilitation at Oak Grove a year and a half ago."

"Ed you got that?"

"Copy," Ed replied over their headsets. "Subject has a history of violence and drug possession."

"Yep," Parker acknowledged. "Spike go ahead and check Miss Moore as well and see if any of them have an emergency contact or next of kin available so we can get some more information on them."

"Katie Moore has no priors, but when I run her through Oak Grove's database she comes back as having been voluntarily admitted to treat drug addiction; also about a year and a half ago."

Okay, looks like they may have met in rehab," Parker stated.

"Sounds about right. Two people struggling with the same problem could lead to a strong bond that might have lasted after they were both discharged," Jules elaborated on the potential connection between the two.

"The 911 operator reported that the woman on the phone said her fiancée had a firearm," Parker added.

"Well any sort of bond can easily escalate to romance," Jules replied.

"Maybe their relationship strengthened because they needed each other in order to stay clean," Sam interjected between huffs as he ran up several flights of stairs.

"Could be," Parker admitted. "Ed just get Alpha in place and give me eyes inside."

"Roger that."

"Spike, any word on family?" Parker asked.

"Katie Moore has a sister named Haley listed as her emergency contact when she was admitted to Oak Grove. The file on Webley has his mother listed."

"All right let's get both of them down here and see if we can shed some light on who we're dealing with," Parker ordered calmly. "And have a phone number ready so I can make contact once we've got eyes inside. We may need to talk this guy down from escalating."

"What if the gunshot heard by the operator was our subject killing the caller?" Sam asked over the radio.

"We'll deal with that possibility if it arises, Sam," Parker exclaimed. "I don't want to speculate on that right now. Let's assume the woman made the call and the man was able to get inside the room and cut that phone call off and is now barricaded inside with a hostage. Let's hope for a non-violent situation with an equally non-violent solution." Sergeant Parker had to hope that whatever bond these two shared was enough to prevent the man from killing the woman. His experience as a police officer was enough to tell him that it often was not enough as crimes of passion were the most common in relation to homicides, but he felt like positive thinking might lead to a more positive outcome. Now he just had to wait for Ed and the rest of Alpha to get up there and establish some eyes inside so they could further assess the situation.

Waiting, however, was not easy.


	4. Chapter 4

"Get up! I said get up!" James reached out and grabbed his sobbing fiancée by the wrist and dragged her to her feet. "Who did you call? Did you call my mother?"

"It was the police, James," she responded, still in tears and trembling.

"Why? What are you doing?"

"You're scaring me!" she seethed between clenched teeth, snot and spittle spraying wildly as she choked on the words. "You shot at me."

He paused for a moment, confused. He still clenched her wrist tightly. "Yes… I'm… I'm sorry," he struggled to say. "I just want my stuff, Katie."

"I don't have it," she blared once more, desperate for him to understand—but it was clear he wasn't going to comprehend what was going on. The revelation that his stash was gone reignited the anger that had subsided for just a moment. He tossed her on the bed forcefully and then looked out the curtains down into the courtyard of the apartment complex. He could see an array of police cars, an ambulance, two suburbans and a large police truck he'd never seen before. There were dozens of people being led away from the front entrance by police officers and still more gathering in big crowds around a cordon the police had established across the street. It didn't take long…

"Damn it," he grumbled, pacing back and forth and scratching his temple with the barrel of his pistol. "What have you done, Katie?"

The Alpha element of Team One now advanced steadily down the hallway after reaching the ninth floor. Ed Lane was in the lead, his MP5 up and at the ready, the butt stock tucked tightly in the pocket of his shoulder. His eyes peered attentively down the hall above the rotating rear diopter drum of his closed type iron sights. Wordy was the number two man close behind and Jules was bringing up the rear.

"Boss, we're on the ninth floor and we'll be at the subject's apartment momentarily," Ed briefed Team One's Sergeant calmly over the radio.

"Very good, Ed. Keep it tight and quiet. I don't want this guy knowing you're there yet."

"Copy that."

Alpha moved fluidly down the hall, covering every angle. They moved in a stack, a line formation where each member stayed close behind the member to their front. It was the ideal formation and movement style in an urban setting, especially in an indoor environment. It was most commonly used by SWAT teams and military units alike.

After a few moments the trio arrived outside the apartment belonging to Katie Moore and James Webley. "We're here, boss." Ed Lane pointed the muzzle of his submachine gun at the door, holding security on it. Any possible threat had to be covered at all times; doorways, windows, and un-cleared avenues were all considered danger areas and the only way to mitigate the risk was to train your muzzle on the site and be alert for any possible threat. "Wordy, let's get a snake in there."

Wordy, wordlessly, stepped out from the stack and slung his submachine gun tight against his chest. He took his assault kit bag off his back and immediately fished around inside it looking to draw out his snake camera and the remote viewing monitor that accompanied it.

Jules glanced at Wordy and Ed both for just a moment, then kept her eyes fixated down the hall from whence they came. At the moment they believed the threat was still confined to the apartment, but there was no telling whether or not he had left and was at large somewhere inside the complex. As a result they had to provide 360 degrees of security for themselves to operate safely within, so Jules was responsible for rear security at least until they confirmed that the armed subject was still inside the apartment.

Wordy worked quickly, if not as deftly as he had in the past. He struggled a bit to piece together the various parts of the surveillance system. It was a quick routine, attach the snake cam to the monitor and any additional extensions one might need but Wordy was a bit unsteady and Ed noticed. "You doing all right?"

"Yeah," Wordy muttered as he finally attached the camera to the monitor. "Just a little amped today. Too much coffee this morning." Ed didn't respond.

Wordy finished his assembly work and began to press the miniature snake camera between the crack in the base of the door and floor. It took some maneuvering but he finally got the camera lens inside. He brought up the picture on the small monitor and studied it suspiciously. To the left of the door was a small family room, two ratty blue sofas, an old television, a black coffee table and some discarded pairs of shoes. He jiggled the camera and pointed to the right of the door in search of the apartment's occupants. To the right he saw a small eating area with a simple wooden table surrounded by matching chairs and an adjacent kitchenette with aging appliances. But there was no sign of Katie Moore or James Webley.

"I've got nothing," Wordy reported.

"Yeah, we've got a good signal down here too, Wordy," Parker replied. "Don't see anyone either. Okay, Spike, let's give the apartment a call and see if anyone answers."

"Dialing now," Spike said, handing the phone to Parker.

James was still pacing back and forth in the bedroom trying to make sense of the madness in his life. His woman, the woman he loved had betrayed him. She had taken away the only thing that had made his life sufferable. And it wasn't the first time she had done it. "I just… I just don't know why you don't care… Why you have to cause these problems for me, Katie."

"Cause you problems?" Katie asked implacably. "You act like I haven't been through what you're going through right now, baby. I know how you're feeling, I understand the control it has on you, but you have to fight it. This is for us, for our future."

"No! You have no idea about the pain I'm suffering from. It's the only way to stop the pain in my heart… the thoughts in my mind." He snapped. "You've broken our trust, you've… you've caused some serious problems for me right now." His heart was racing and his muscles ached. His mind was running a mile a minute and a million different thoughts were scattered throughout his brain. His girl didn't care about him, only herself now. She was using him for a place to stay, or his mother had gotten to her and told her not to trust him. That was it; his mother had cast him out of her life because of distrust and was making Katie do the same thing now.

Suddenly the phone rang, startling them both. James looked at it with a perplexed look emblazoned upon his face. His mouth was dry and he licked at his lips continuously trying to return some moisture to the region, but it was no good. His breathing increased and his heart fluttered rapidly. He started scratching his head severely and tugged at locks of his hair. He growled and groaned as his appetite surged deep within his bowels. "I need my fix, Katie!"

Still the phone rang, and the incessant tone aggravated James increasingly. He stomped over and picked it up, staring at it like it was a tormentor of some kind built only to exacerbate his desire for something he couldn't attain. He was sweating still and shook his head growling as he finally answered the phone.

"What?" he demanded on the line.

_"James?"_ a voice asked plaintively. _"Is this James Webley?"_

"Yes, what do you want?" He was tugging at his hair again and pacing around the room while Katie watched silently. Her crying had subsided somewhat now as his attention was drawn to the telephone.

_"Hi James; this is Sergeant Greg Parker with the Strategic Response Unit. I'm calling to see if everyone is doing okay in there,"_ the voice announced coolly.

James was silent for a moment. Dodgy, red eyes darted over at Katie who sat quietly on the bed still. "Yes," he blurted with a snort. "We're fine. Everyone is fine. Why wouldn't we be fine?"

His words were slurred and he spoke at a rapid rate. Sergeant Parker believed he was under the influence of some kind of substance. He covered the receiver of his phone and spoke to his team. "Looks like our subject may have fallen off the wagon," he explained. Then spoke back into the telephone. _"James, there was a 911 phone call from your apartment and gunshots were heard. I want to know you're okay."_

"I told you I'm fine!"

"_And Katie? Is Katie there with you_?" Parker pressed. He dabbed his lips with his tongue and looked at Spike with expectant eyes. Spike's mouth hung open a bit as he awaited the reply. Was Katie dead or hurt?

James sniffed a bit and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a wobbly forearm. He looked at Katie again, trying to fight back the rage that emanated from his insides. He was furious with her. He was silent, yet his body quivered with a need that embodied his very soul. "Yes, she's fine. She's here."

"_That's good, James. Let's talk about letting some officers and paramedics in there just to check on you guys okay?" _

"James, please!" Katie pleaded.

He whirled on her and threatened with another slap. "Shut up!" he shouted. "No, no one is coming in here. This is between me and her. Do you understand me?"

"_James I'm just here to help, buddy."_ Parker urged. _"Can you tell me what you need to help both of you?"_ But there was no reply. The phone line was cut off. "He hung up," Parker reported to the team.

"Boss, I'm in position and I've got eyes on the apartment," Sam suddenly informed.

"What do you see?"

"I've got clear sightlines into the family room and kitchen, but no one is there," he stated, confirming Alpha's earlier report. There was a pause before he spoke again. "Okay, I can see movement inside the bedroom, but I can't tell who is who. Curtains are covering most of the window."

"Boss," Ed suddenly chimed.

"Yeah, Ed?"

"We've got a new development."

Spike and Parker's eyes were drawn back to the feed being piped to their screen from the snake camera that Wordy had installed. They saw James dragging Katie out of the bedroom by the wrist. The woman struggled with some effort but he struck her and she relented. He pulled her further into the hall and began to drag her toward the family room. The woman had brown hair, was young and was fairly small in stature, but what drew their attention was her physical state. Spike and Parker's eyes both widened from what they saw.

Ed's voice continued on the radio then as he reported what the two in the command truck could already see. "Boss, this lady is pregnant."


	5. Chapter 5

The range was only one hundred and ten meters from Sam's perch to the apartment where he could see the subject and his hostage. It was an easy shot for a sniper, especially one as experienced and skilled as Sam. He had routinely made shots from ten times that distance in Afghanistan. His Leupold scope was zeroed to two hundred meters. So he dialed his elevation back to its original zero, which was recorded in his data boo. He then positioned the scope's reticule on the subject. With his rifle zeroed to two hundred meters taking a shot at a target only one hundred meters away meant that his round would strike 7.62 centimeters above the target. To correct for that he simply had to adjust where he placed the reticule in relation to the subject's body. He placed the crosshairs on the upper part of James Webley's stomach which would give him an accurate shot, center mass in the man's chest if he was forced to fire.

He glanced around his surroundings and decided to figure for the wind, even though at this range windage would be of little concern. A good marksman always measured the ambient conditions around him for the maximum amount of information that allowed for a perfect shot and he wasn't going anywhere soon. He could use a nearby flag, rustling leaves, garbage blowing in a parking lot or even the movement of mirage on the horizon (as he had done many times in Afghanistan). Upon glancing at the nearby trees he realized the wind speed was minimal at best, so he assigned it no value.

There were always additional things to be considered with long distance shooting- range, bullet drop, ambient temperature, elevation, wind velocity, type of ammunition and so forth. But one hundred meters could hardly be considered long distance shooting, especially to a trained sniper. So Sam Braddock settled in behind the scope of his rifle. "This is Sam, I've got the solution," he calmly spoke into the mouthpiece of his radio set.

"What do you see, Sam?" Parker asked.

"They're in the family room. He pushed her onto a couch and he's just pacing around," he told them. So it was the same view they had on the camera. "He looks pretty unstable."

"Any word on where those family members are?" Parker turned to Spike.

"They're on the way. Katie's sister is a lot closer—she should be here soon," Spike explained, still sitting behind his computer.

"Let's hold tight till they get here and we can figure out a little more about these two," Parker announced. "If he escalates I want to know, Sam. Ed what are our tactical options?"

"Primary you talk this guy down, secondary is a hard entry by Alpha for a less-than-lethal takedown and Sam will be our tertiary, lethal option," Ed reported without hesitation.

"Sounds good," Parker agreed. Ed Lane never missed a second when it came to the execution of a tactical plan.

After a time Haley Moore arrived at the scene and was met outside the command truck by Sergeant Parker. "Ma'am, it's good to meet you," he greeted after introducing himself.

"What's going on? Is Katie all right?" she asked with grave concern. Her nervous eyes looked over at the apartment her sister lived in, now encircled by dozens of uniformed police officers and curious onlookers not far away.

"She is, yes," Parker assured her. "But her fiancée has her inside and isn't letting her go. He has a gun, Haley."

"Oh my God," Haley muttered, quaking. "I knew he was trouble… I knew it, but she told me he had changed and he had gotten better and that they were going to start a new life after overcoming their addiction."

"What can you tell me about their relationship?"

"They met in rehab," Haley began, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. "Katie got in trouble her senior year for drug use. She partied a lot, drank, did cocaine and I think she even tried meth. Our parents had enough of it after she got busted by school police. We had an intervention with the whole family and she understood the error of her ways. She voluntarily entered Oak Grove for treatment.

"She wrote letters, we were told not to visit often. She always said she was doing well but was feeling lonely, missed her friends and her family. A few weeks into her treatment she started talking about this guy a lot, how smart and funny he was and how bad she felt for the things he'd gone through," she elaborated at length. She shifter her weight nervously, her thoughts were on her sister's safety inside.

"What sort of things?"

"I don't know. She never really said. She only told me that he'd been through so much and had lost more than she could imagine. She likened it to our relationship—like how rough it would be if she lost me," Haley stated.

"You two are close?"

"Yes. I mean, it fluctuates from time to time. When she was using she pushed me away, didn't really want to talk to me, but after her rehab we got close again. We talked all the time."

"Do you know if she's stayed clean since finishing her treatment?"

"Yes, absolutely. We've been really impressed with her progress. The baby coming has only reinforced her resolve to stay clean. She even goes back for follow up meetings with her counselors and they all tell her she's one of their best successes," Haley boasted proudly. "I just knew it was a bad idea when she told me she was moving in with this guy after he was discharged. And when she told me they were going to get married? It worried me even more, but what could I say? She's my sister and I love her."

Parker nodded and forced a knowing smile on his face. "Sometimes it's hard to accept the things our loved ones do, much less be supportive of them."

"She'd done so well, though, I just—I just didn't want to cause friction in our relationship, not after what we'd been through. He never went there voluntarily, though," Haley continued. "He was ordered to by a judge. He was a criminal, not like Katie at all. She told me he changed and that if she could do it I had to believe he could too."

"Has she told you about any violence between either of them?" Parker queried.

"No…" Haley stated, as the idea of James Webley harming her sister dawned on her. "She told me that they fought sometimes and that he got very angry and sometimes she worried that he might turn back to his addiction, but she never said more than that."

Parker nodded as she explained the situation and then out of the corner of his eye he saw a uniformed officer escorting an older female toward the truck. She was bundled up in a large winter coat and hat, but her age and concern were evident enough to the aged veteran. He surmised it was James' mother. He turned his attention back to Haley. "Thank you for the information, Haley. We're going to handle this and take care of your sister, don't worry."

"Please save her from him… I don't care if you have to kill him to rescue her. She deserves better than this after what she's accomplished," Haley expressed seriously.

"Hopefully it won't come to that, Haley," Parker asserted. "Please go with this officer, he'll take care of you."

The uniformed officer took Haley away just before the arrival of James' mother. Parker was thankful for that. Haley's blatant lack of concern for James' wellbeing could have created a conflict right outside the command truck and that was something he did not have the time to deal with.

"This is Susan Webley, the subject's mother," the uniformed officer informed Sergeant Parker as the pair arrived before him. Parker thanked him and the officer withdrew far enough away to not be a part of the conversation.

"Subject?" Susan asked curiously. "What's going on with my son? He's finally lost it, hasn't he?"

Susan explained James' story. Like so many others he had dealt with it was tragic in a sense. James had been a good student and an athlete, the model son who idolized his older brother Michael. Their father had died when they were young and Michael had practically raised his younger brother like a son.

"He was everything to James. He emulated him, wanted to do everything his brother did. Played the same sports, loved the same movies, and chased the same kind of girls. He even wanted to join the Army like his brother," Susan remembered. Her face was a mask of stone, as if the tragedy of their lives had become familiar to her.

"And?"

"When James was a senior in school his brother was deployed to Afghanistan…" she trailed off for a moment, pulling her jacket more snugly around her. "He was killed there by an IED. James was devastated. His grades started to slip, he got in fights all the time, he became withdrawn, wouldn't talk to me or any of his old friends. He started to drink and party, got involved with some bad elements and finally got expelled from school."

"That must have been difficult," Parker observed.

"Yes and I didn't have the patience to deal with him. I was still grieving for Michael. It was… hard. James started using drugs and stealing from people. He stole from me several times before he was finally arrested and sent to Oak Grove," Susan remembered. She spoke in a small voice, almost meek before the Sergeant. Yet perhaps the situation she found herself in now seemed inevitable given the path her son had been travelling down.

"He did well there. Met Katie, wrote me letters saying how good everything was and how sorry he had been. When he got out they moved in together and they were doing well at first."

"But?"

"But after a while they started to fight over money and because James would disappear for days at a time. He turned up on my doorstep one day high and asking for money. I told him no, he forced his way in and stole some of my jewelry. After that I… I disowned him as a son. I was so furious. It was a complete betrayal of his brother's memory to be acting like that. It wasn't what Michael would have wanted, but James didn't care. He just became so selfish and wanted to drown his sadness with anything he could get his hands on," Susan said with a grim, but determined look upon her face.

After the information was passed Susan expressed her desire to see her son brought out of the situation safely, but stated she understood if they had to take extreme measures to ensure the safety of Katie. It was an odd admission for Parker to hear from a mother, but it seemed as if her son's behavior had grievously hurt her.

"Okay Team One listen up—our subject is dealing with depression over the loss of his brother, anxiety and an addiction to controlled substances, most likely meth and possible cocaine. He's emotionally unstable right now and under the influence of something. He's clearly demonstrated aggressive behavior and irritability and could be experiencing paranoia, hallucinations, delusions of grandiosity, and powerful feelings of invincibility if he's high right now. We need to tread softly."

"Good to go, boss," Lane answered. "Sam if he escalates let me know right away. Wordy let's prep a door charge in case we need to make a quick entry. What's next?"

"I'm going to call again," Parker exclaimed. "Let's hope he can see some reason…"


	6. Chapter 6

"So you can hook me up or what?" James' tremulous voice questioned into his cell phone.

_"Absolutely, man. Just come on by the usual spot. How much you need_?" a rasping voice asked on the other end.

"Just enough to get me through week," James told him.

_"Okay, no problem. Just make sure you bring cash, eh? We don't do credit," _the voice on the line snickered.

"Don't worry. I'll have cash. Meet me in thirty minutes," James replied.

_"No problem." _

James closed his cell and paced around the apartment in circles, scratching at his head. "Okay… okay… okay," he kept repeating to himself.

"What are you doing?" Katie asked him, disturbed.

"We're going. We're going to get more because I need it. The pain won't go away unless I get more… so that's what we're doing," he explained in an uncertain tone.

"There are police, James," Katie said worriedly. What was he thinking now?

"I don't care, I've got you and they're not going to do anything if I have you."

"This is crazy James… what about us, what about the baby?"

"I don't care right now—I have to stop the pain in my heart… I have to make the memories disappear," he retorted.

"Sarge, James just got off his cellphone with someone," Sam reported upon observation of the action.

"Copy that, Sam. Spike, see if we can bring up his call list," Parker instructed his tech wiz.

Spike clapped his hands together and exhaled, then steadily went to work. "Yep, I've got the number here… running it to see who it's registered to," he paused as the search was conducted by his software. "Looks like it's a pre-purchased cell phone."

"A burner," Parker added.

"Drug dealers use burners," Ed said over the radio.

"He's calling his dealer in the middle of this?" Jules questioned aloud.

"Maybe all he can think about is getting his fix?" Wordy asked no one in particular.

"Could be," Parker agreed, thinking for a moment. "I'm going to call him again, Alpha stand by."

There was silence in the command truck for a few moments while the phone rang. Parker felt restless, he didn't like how the situation was developing. His subject seemed despondent, unconcerned with his predicament and probably didn't care about the condition of his fiancée—his hostage. Only his addiction mattered now.

Then the ringing stopped as someone answered the line. "James… it's Greg Parker again," he greeted.

_"Shut up!"_ a voice raged. _"I don't want to talk to you. Got that? I'm leaving this place and you're not going to stop me. There's something I need, understand? I need it and you're not going to stop me!" _

"James, just calm down. Why don't you tell me where you're going so I can make sure you get there without any problems," Parker pleaded. But there was no reply. Once again James had ended the phone call. "He's not talking to me, people."

Suddenly the door swung open and a startled Alpha element backed away cautiously. James edged out of the apartment. His fiancée, clearly with child, was held tightly against his body. The SRU members could see the knife protruding from James' shoulder. He held a gun against Katie's head and barked at the trio from Team One. "Get back!"

The team slowly moved backward, but Ed Lane kept his weapon trained on the subject. "James, just calm down," he implored. "It looks like you're hurt. You need some medical attention."

"No, just shut up," James shot back. "I don't need your help, just get back!"

"That knife has to be causing you some pain, James. Just put the gun down and we can have some paramedics take a look at it."

"Shut up! It won't matter soon, just get away from us," James fumed.

Still the team backed up as James began to drag Katie down the hallway.

"Boss, he's not responding to me. He's completely lost it, I don't think he understands all of what's going on right now," Ed briefed his team Sergeant.

"Copy that, Ed. If he called his dealer he might be trying to get his fix right now. As absurd as that sounds his mind is set on one goal and one goal only. We don't want to get in the way of that yet," Parker replied.

"I've got no solution, he's holding her pretty tightly," Ed announced.

"He's going for the elevator," Jules observed.

"Okay, no problem."

James continued to shuffle his feet backward, holding Katie tightly to his body. At times he would brandish his weapon at the SRU officers and demand they get back as they slowly followed his back-pedaling toward the elevator. It would be a nasty surprise for him when he realized they were out of commission and perhaps it would force him to talk, force him to stop this madness.

"James just put the gun down—you don't want to do this," Ed reasoned.

"I told you to shut up," James shouted back. "You don't know what I want."

He arrived at the elevator and pressed the down button. To everyone's surprise the doors slid open and James dragged Katie inside. The doors slid shut before the three of them could get there to stop them. He was heading down.

"Boss, elevator is active and our subject is heading for the ground level," Ed exclaimed as he and his two teammates scrambled back toward the stairwell.

Parker burst out of the command truck and sought out the senior on-scene commander for the uniformed police. "Why wasn't the elevator shut down?" he demanded.

"What?"

"The elevator was still active. Standard operating procedure for a barricaded subject in a multi-storied structure with an elevator calls for the elevator to be shut down to limit that subjects escape options. Why wasn't the elevator shut down?" he asked again. His eyes stared at the officer intensely.

"I—I don't know, we must have forgotten," the officer struggled to say.

"Sam, hold position our subject might be coming out the front door here shortly," Parker exclaimed. "Ed what's your status?"

The three members of the Alpha element were rounding down the stairwell as fast as possible, but it would take time to get to the ground floor. "We're in route, boss."

Parker pushed the door of the command truck open again. "Spike, on me."

Spike scrambled to his feet and scooped up his MP5 to follow his team Sergeant. They sprinted across the open lawn in front of the apartment complex just as James burst out the front door with Katie still in tow. There was a trio of officer's surrounding him with their weapons drawn and sighted in. James was shouting angrily at all of them.

"Stand down! Stand down!" Parker ordered as he and Spike drew up on the subject and his hostage. The other officers looked at Sergeant Parker confusedly. "I said stand down, get back. Give us space." Reluctantly they lowered their weapons and edged away. Parker was unarmed, his pistol still holstered. But Spike trained his muzzle on the subject.

"Get back! How many times do I have to say it?" the subject demanded with hostility.

"James… James where are you going?" Parker asked, trying to calm him down.

"Don't worry about that, just get out of my face," James sneered.

"Ed… status?" Parker asked quietly, the situation was rapidly deteriorating. He wasn't sure he could corral the subject's emotions.

"Still in route," he wheezed as Alpha continued their hasty descent down the stairs. "We're coming, boss."

James pressed forward, his face pale now and shimmering with an ample amount of sweat. He had to be losing blood, but since he hadn't removed the blade the amount which he had lost was probably minimal. That had to be a painful injury, but if he was on some narcotic he may be ambivalent to it. It only worried Parker more as James advance forced them back.

"I've got the solution," Sam spoke evenly into the radio.

Parker heard it and knew Sam could make the shot if he had to. But he didn't want it to come to that. Team One had already been forced to make a spade of tough calls, many of which had ended with fatalities. Each death impacted the individual that pulled the trigger—but there was a pronounced effect on the team's psyche as well. No matter how often the decision to take a life was made they had to protect every subject's right to life as best they could. Every decision had to be weighed with considerable thought and every possible avenue had to be pursued before lethal force was authorized. This became increasingly difficult as situations heated up and choices had to be made in the blink of an eye. Parker could feel the heat simmering now. He could see it in James' desperate, but vacant gaze. He could hear it in the demands made in a quaking voice.

"Sam… Scorpio…"

Sam took a deep breath, held it for a moment and then exhaled. He repeated the exercise multiple times in order to calm his nerves and prepare for the possibility of taking a shot. Sergeant Parker had said Scorpio—now the onus was on Sam. He could fire at his own discretion if the situation demanded it. He didn't want it, but he wouldn't shy away from it either.

He adjusted his position so that he would be more comfortable. Having remained in place for some time now his joints were a bit sore and he needed to feel relaxed and loose. Still he practiced his steady breathing and focused in on his target without too much intensity. One always had to be concerned about eye fatigue. He steadied his rifle, but was careful not to grip it too tightly. A strong grip could constrict blood flow and result in a shaky posture.

Through his scope he could see the scene unfolding. The subject was in a drug induced haze, clearly oblivious to the state of his fiancée and seemingly uninterested in the fact that she was pregnant. It was this sort of blatant disregard for the sanctity of life that made Sam struggle with the idea of protecting druggie low lives. He pressed the barrel of his pistol against her skull and then waved it repeatedly at Sergeant Parker and Spike.

Sam exhaled once more, flicked his rifle off safe and rested his finger inside the trigger guard. Another set of wild gestures from the subject and he put his finger on the trigger and slowly began to take the slack out of the trigger, preparing for the shot.

"Sam, it's getting pretty bad down here. He wants to leave and we're not letting him," Parker exclaimed through his radio. His hands were up as if to present himself as non-threatening to the subject, but James wasn't buying it.

He waved the weapon menacingly at the officers before turning it on Katie once more. "That's it, she's dead!" he howled.

The slack in the trigger dissipated as Sam pulled it back, his finger square on the instrument. He felt the percussion of the rifle's roar in his ears as it fired and felt the recoil as the weapon reeled back into his shoulder. Even upon the roof of the apartment he could hear the shrill cries and shrieks from nearby onlookers at the result of his shot.

He gazed through his scope to see for himself and was horrified by what he saw.


	7. Chapter 7

James Webley stood frozen in place. His mouth hung open; his eyes were wide with horror. He couldn't move, he couldn't understand what had just happened. The pistol dangled harmlessly at his side and his body trembled almost uncontrollably. He could hear the shouts and cries of pedestrians not far away, but it seemed distant… unimportant to him now. Much closer he could hear commands. It was the police ordering him to drop his weapon and get on his knees.

His other hand reached up and felt the warm liquid that had painted his face just a moment before. His fingertips were red with the blood of his hostage. He could feel the viscera upon his skin and his eyes travelled downward to see his pregnant fiancée, Katie, motionless in a bloody heap at his feet. He felt the terror well up inside him, overpowering all other feelings. He wanted to retch, he wanted to scream, but he hovered there motionless instead.

The force of Alpha arriving and driving him to the ground beside his fallen fiancée was tremendous. He felt the blades of grass scratch against his face and he gazed at Katie's vacant eyes. He could see where the bullet had exited her skull and was disgusted by the contents which had spilled outward.

"Gimme your hands, let's go," Ed Lane demanded. But the subject was non-responsive. Ed snagged each hand as Jules yanked the pistol from his grasp. Ed quickly and tightly cuffed the subject before hauling him to his feet. He passed him off to Wordy. "Take care of this guy."

Wordy silently nodded and took the subject from Ed's custody. Ed and Jules watched him march away before turning their eyes on the victim who lay motionless amidst bloody blades upon the lawn.

Uniformed officers and paramedics were rushing to Katie's location, but Ed knew she was gone and he knew who had been responsible. His eyes were trained on the rooftop of the opposite apartment building. Jules looked at him, and then followed his gaze. "Sam?" Ed asked over the radio. There was no reply. "Sam, you there, buddy?" Still no response.

Jules felt the pain begin to manifest itself in her chest as the reality of what had transpired became apparent. She choked back an urge to shed tears… tears for this poor woman and tears for a man she cared deeply about. Her eyes were fixated on the rooftop as well, but she could conjure no words that might make Sam respond.

"Let's go," Ed ordered and immediately embarked toward the apartment complex's main entrance. Jules was close at hand.

They found Sam frozen in shock, slumped against the wall with his rifle discarded beside him. His eyes were wide, his chest was heaving and his mouth was open, but he uttered no words when they burst onto the scene.

"Sam?" Ed asked. He approached slowly alongside Jules who wanted nothing more than to sprint toward him and embrace him. She wanted to comfort him, but she knew there was a line they could not cross in front of the team—even now, even amidst this tragedy.

"I… I can't… breathe," Sam muttered between labored breaths. He sniffed the air and said nothing else.

Ed leaned down and grabbed the Remington 700. He racked the bolt to the rear and the empty cartridge ejected onto the gravelly rooftop. He looked down at Sam. Jules had moved in.

She reached out and let tender fingers rest against his cheek. "Sam, are you okay?" she asked him in as soothing of a voice as she could muster.

He stared into Jules, past her. He was oblivious to her presence. He was reliving the shot in his mind's eye and he was lost.

"What's his status?" Parker questioned over the radio. "Is he okay?"

"He's alive," Ed replied, not sure of what else to say.

"SIU is going to want to talk to him, Ed," Parker said unnecessarily. It was procedure, after every shooting there was an investigation. But this would be different and very hard for everyone.

"Not now, boss," Ed replied stoically.

"Come on, Sam," Jules pleaded, biting her lower lip. "Let's get you out of here."

Suddenly he awoke and was present in the here and now. His eyes, once glazed over now focused on Jules own warm gaze. She tried to offer a smile, but it was forced. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and exhaled; when they opened they were teary. "Let's go," he mumbled.

Jules helped him to his feet and looked over at Ed. "Take him. I'll wait for SIU," he said. She nodded, wrapped an arm around him and slowly the duo shuffled toward the roof's access door.

"What happened, Ed?" Parker questioned as he watched the paramedics loading Katie's lifeless body onto a gurney, cover her up and cart her away. He could already see a horde of journalists behind the cordon in the distance.

Ed sighed. "I don't know, boss. He took the shot."

_But he missed_, Parker thought. He crossed one arm over his chest and tucked his hand beneath his armpit. He pulled off his cap and ran a hand across his balding pate. _Why did he miss_?

Ed watched as Wordy handed off the subject to a uniformed police officer who in turn took him to a police car. The subject had gone from emotional and aggressive to catatonic in a single breath. He offered no struggle when the officer put him in the back of the squad car.

Spike was looking at Sergeant Parker, expecting some sort of explanation for what happened, or more importantly—what was going to happen? "This is bad," he remarked.

"We've done bad. We'll get through this," Parker pronounced half-heartedly. He wasn't sure he believed his own words.

The elevator ride down was quiet. Sam was hunched against the wall and silent and Jules couldn't think of a thing to say to ease whatever torment must have been raging inside his mind. Seeing him that way disturbed her, it tugged at the strings of her heart. She wanted to reach out to him, she wanted to hold him close and reassure him or make him forget what he had done. She knew she could, she knew she could make the reality of his actions disappear with her touch—with her caress. But it wasn't the right time, not for their profession, not for what was required of them. The team was on probation and any overt emotional comfort from her could be misconstrued, at least the sort of comfort she wanted to give, and that would be the end of Team One. And as much as it pained her to admit—Team One as a whole meant more than any one of them as an individual.

She reached out with her diminutive hand and grasped at his trembling fingers. His sullen eyes rose from the floor and locked on her. She bit her lower lip as her slender fingers intertwined with his. He could see the pain in her eyes and he felt guilt for causing it. He was responsible for that woman's death and now he could see the pain of it in Jules' eyes. "I'm here for you," she spoke softly.

"I know," he replied evenly, emotion vacant from his voice. There was a ding, alerting them both that they had arrived at the ground floor. The doors slid open fast, but not as fast as Jules' relinquished his hand. A small pang thrust at his heart, but he understood it. That was the truth of their relationship.

Slowly they made their way out of the elevator and down the hallway. Jules had her arm around his waist, escorting him as if he were wounded. When they walked outside nearby officers stopped what they were doing and stared at them, or more specifically at Sam. A nasty sneer from Jules forced most to avert their gaze, but it was as if he was suddenly an animal in a zoo to them. This costly mistake had transformed his image—the image of SRU—in all their minds.

Parker watched as they crossed the lawn. Sam was in almost the same catatonic state James had been in. He could see the tender care with which Jules handled him and deep down he knew something still remained. Inwardly he could only be thankful for that; Sam would need her now more than ever.

He continued watching as Jules deftly helped Sam into one of the response vehicles. She looked over to Sergeant Parker expectantly. She wanted to leave; she wanted to get Sam out of the area and away from the scene of this tragedy. Parker knew SIU would be on scene to talk to him, that they would force the issue and not handle the subject delicately despite Sam's emotions over it. He nodded, silently giving her permission. She smiled; displaying her thanks and then hopped into the driver side of the Suburban and drove away.

"Ed," Parker said into his microphone.

"Yeah?"

"When SIU gets here let them take a look at the scene. If they ask, they can question Sam back at the office, but I've sent him and Jules away," Parker explained.

"Sounds good, boss," Ed responded.

But it wasn't good. Nothing about the situation was good and Parker didn't know how it would all come to a close. What did this mean for Team One and how would it affect Sam Braddock?


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's note- Hey all, hope you guys are enjoying the story and that it's not too out of the realm or style of the show. I tried to keep it straight forward and make it feel like it could be an episode, albeit it one of a slightly different format. Thanks again for the reviews and favorites etc. It's great motivation to keep working when you know people like what you're producing. _

Sam Braddock sullenly shuffled his way out of the SRU facility. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally and the thought of lingering any longer made him want to scream. Winnie saw him as he passed and attempted to say goodbye in as chipper of a voice as she could conjure. He was unresponsive, however, to her normally infectious happiness and she was left to silently watch as he left the building.

The night air was cool enough to see ones breath. The sky was vacant of stars save for the occasional dot here and there. Illumination was low; the moon was in its early phases and offered no additional light. The parking lot was quiet and desolate. Sam arrived at his vehicle, anxious to get home and away from the job that he loved so much, but hated right now.

Jules Callaghan was there, leaning idly against his car with worried eyes and a concerned look that marked her ordinarily joyful face. "Sam…" she muttered, greeting him more as a teammate than the lover she had been.

"Jules…"

"Are you doing okay?" she asked almost meekly.

"Everyone keeps asking me that," he responded hotly. It was obvious she pitied him now; pitied him for the mistake he had made and pitied him for how he felt now. But he didn't want her pity, it agitated him.

"It's because we care, Sam," she insisted, stepping forward as he arrived more closely before her, his bag still slung over his shoulder. She didn't embrace him; no matter how much she wanted to the ground they stood upon was still a place the tenderness she yearned to give him was forbidden. She could see that he was in pain, but he would not admit it to her- and if not to her, then to whom?

"We…" he muttered, shaking his head.

"I care, Sam," she said half-pleadingly. Wasn't that obvious to him? Couldn't he understand the predicament she was in right now? She wanted to reach out, but she couldn't… not just yet.

"Well, we can talk about this later," he said with a sigh. He marched to the back of his car and popped the trunk. He tossed his bag in the back and closed it, his blue eyes met with Jules'. "I'm going home."

"Do you want me to come?" she asked him, hoping for the answer that she wanted to hear more than anything.

He gazed at her as he thought. He didn't know the answer to the question. He knew what he wanted, but for some reason he couldn't express it. Not now. "No. I'm fine. I'll see you tomorrow," he told her coolly. He didn't loiter long enough for her to say anything else. He knew her voice could wear down his resistance and he didn't want that even if he didn't understand that resistance. He drew open his car door, got inside, started the ignition and roared off into the Toronto night.

Jules hovered there momentarily. A sad sigh escaped her lips. She wasn't good at this. She knew she wasn't. She could talk to an emotionally unstable subject and bring them back from the brink of committing a terrible act, but to comfort the man she cared most deeply for? That was something more complex. Her emotions complicated everything.

Natalie wasn't home, so much for the better. He didn't want to see her. He could only think of one face he wanted to see right now and for some reason he'd banished her when she tried to get close. He felt angry that she approached him with such restraint despite what was going on. But the Team and her place on it meant so much to her and he supposed he couldn't fault her for that.

He tossed his bag on the floor and tugged open the door on the fridge. He dragged a beer out and popped the cap off before taking a healthy, long swig of it. He relished the taste before setting the bottle down for a moment. His eyes were drawn to his chest; the feeling of a small piece of metal there beckoned him. He pulled his dog tags out and tossed them on the countertop.

Sam stared at the tiny identification tags as if they could shed some new light on how he felt now. He had learned about commitment, duty, honor, loyalty and so much more in the Army but at the moment he felt as if he'd betrayed every tenet they'd ever taught him. The dull sheen of the metal offered no answers, gave him no clues as to how he could heal the damage he felt inside.

The thought of his father, inextricably linked to his time in the service, suddenly came to mind as well. It did little to alleviate the hurt he was experiencing. The Colonel was a soldier first and a father second and even as a child he never tolerated mistakes or excuses from his son—whom he'd hope to groom to follow in his footsteps. His father had known conflict and tragedy and for whatever reason he wished that legacy upon his son. And Sam had followed in his footsteps, but of his own accord. He remembered just how angry his father had gotten when Sam enlisted rather than attending the Royal Military College as he had done in order to become an officer and a gentleman. But Sam was no gentleman. Not then, not now. Today had proved as much.

There was one other thing his father cherished as much as his life as an Army officer. It was Black Velvet, his favorite blended whiskey, and it was something he coveted like it was crafted by the hands of God himself. Sam could always remember his father in his study, astutely going over military history for which he had an avid passion for, and a glass of Black Velvet was always close by.

He lurched over to a cupboard over his sink and found his own bottle of the stuff; a purchase he'd made in case his father had ever decided to visit him in Toronto. The thought of that, however, was absurd. His father abhorred the decision Sam had made to leave the Army and felt that visiting him in his new life would be tacit support for that decision, which he simply could not allow.

He unscrewed the cap, forwent the use of a shot glass and simply took several pulls from the bottle itself. He could taste the smooth, velvety mixture for which the whiskey had gotten its name wash down his throat. He winced only slightly, well accustomed to drinking hard liquor from his Army days. He focused on the taste and how it felt as it scorched at his mouth and throat. Concentration of that simple task—getting drunk—kept his mind off other things. At least for a time.

The morning came just as it always did and Sam awoke to the deafening sound of his alarm clock. He sat up with some effort, rubbing his face and eyes. He was perplexed; ordinarily he woke up before his alarm clock ever had the chance to go off. His sleep-filled eyes fixated on the display blinking on his clock. It was nine in the morning. His heart nearly exploded when a pang of panic struck home. He was late for work. He sprang from his bed and frantically began dressing.

Whatever was going on with you as an individual, whatever trials or struggles you endured, it all took a back seat to your commitment to the team. You were expected to be a professional—prompt and ready for whatever emergency the day could throw at you. Being late, especially hours late, was beyond unacceptable. A quick glance at his phone showed four missed calls. He knew he'd have some answering to do when he arrived at work. Sergeant Parker would have words with him, but it was Ed Lane who would come at him the hardest. Ed was no stranger to the job's adversities and he never accepted them as an excuse not to do your job.

Sam finished dressing in a tornado of activity. He grabbed a bottle of water, only now realizing he had a headache thanks to a sizable hangover. Then he slung his pack over his shoulder and dashed out the door. He could only hope today would be a slow and quiet day.


	9. Chapter 9

"Any word?" Ed asked Sergeant Parker. The pair of veteran cops were hanging out inside the briefing room. Ed was feeling particularly anguished over Sam's failure to appear for the morning workout at five. He assumed he just skipped the workout and would be there when the shift started at seven—he could overlook that much. But it had been two hours since Team One began their shift and Sam had still not arrived. He wasn't sure if he should be angry or worried.

"I called, but no answer."

"You think he may have done something extreme?" Ed asked doubtfully.

"No. He's not the type," Parker told him. He was sure of that. Suicide or something along that line was not Sam Braddock's style. There were plenty of people that surprised the Sergeant with their overtures for a death by their own hand, but this young officer had endured severe hardship before and he would do so now. He just needed a guiding hand from his mentors.

"What did SIU have to say?"

"They said it was a good shoot. Witness statements indicate the subject jerked the hostage at the wrong moment and she was hit instead," Parker explained, shuffling some of the paperwork present on the table. "But it was a good shot nonetheless. The investigation is still ongoing, though."

"Are they suspending him from duty?" Ed asked interestedly.

"No, but if we get a call he won't be acting as Sierra until all this gets sorted out. Try to use him to fill a supporting role rather than a tactical one," Parker instructed casually.

"You really think that's a good idea?"

"Putting him on duty?"

"Putting him on the bench," Ed remarked seriously.

"It's not the bench, Eddie. He'll still be out there with us."

"In my opinion a guy gets tested like this and he either folds completely or he overcomes it," Ed commented, crossing his arms and shifting his weight.

"So what do you suggest?"

"I want to run the team through the shoot house when he turns up," Ed suggested.

"Don't you think that's a bit too soon?" Parker probed curiously. He wasn't sure what Ed's ultimate goal was, but if the team leader wanted to do it then he had his reasons.

"A guy like Sam—an experienced operator—he needs to be doing his job. The more downtime he has, the more he's going to think about the mistake he made and it's just going to eat away at him. He needs to be pushed, he needs to be challenged and he needs to know his place on this team is secure," Ed elaborated on his theory. Despite how different he and Sam were personally on a professional level they were very much alike and Ed knew the best way for him to get over an issue was to throw himself into his work. It was a fine line to tread, but necessary.

"So you think some time in the shoot house will build his confidence back up?" Parker questioned after a moment of thought.

"Yep."

"Okay, do it," Parker agreed.

Ed nodded his gratefulness and exited the briefing room. He was off to configure the shoot house for a scenario he wanted to present to Sam and the team. The SRU's shoot house was an incredibly important tool that allowed them to create variable situations with multiple target types, or live role players if desired. They conducted live fire training there in addition to the paint rounds referred to as simmunition. The whole building's interior could be torn down and reconfigured to present different problems to the team members and prevent them from ever fully memorizing the building's layout.

As Sam came in he saw Ed walking with that determined purpose that always seemed to characterize his gait. He shied away from crossing his path, but the ever-observant team leader noticed his entry. "Care to explain?" Ed inquired.

"Overslept. No excuse," Sam offered weakly.

"Get your kit together. Shoot house in thirty," Ed told him. Sam expected more, but he got nothing else. Ed was treating him as if he were on time. "Let's go Team One, gear up." Ed's voice echoed over the facility's interior.

Spike, Wordy, and Jules all responded to the order and shuffled toward the response room in order to don their kit for whatever drill Ed would be running them through. They greeted Sam warmly, but offered no queries as to how he was doing. At this point implicit communication pervaded over the inter-personal relationships present amongst the team. They all knew something was amiss with Sam—he didn't have to say it, but they also knew he wasn't going to discuss it. So they wouldn't ask until it became necessary.

Sam and Spike were on the roof of the second story of the shoot house. They'd be making an entry by rappelling down into the windows of a room on the second floor and clearing the building from the top down. Meanwhile, Wordy and Jules would make entry in a window on the first floor and clear from the bottom up. The two pairs would meet in between after neutralizing their respective targets. Dual entries were always risky because of the risk of fratricide, but they were popular amongst elite units because it made a location more difficult to defend for those inside. If they were fast enough they could often confuse and overwhelm any subjects inside before needing to discharge their firearms.

Now, however, they would be using live fire. Sam, Wordy and Spike were all equipped with their 9mm Glock 17s with tactical lights while Jules carried her preferred sidearm—the subcompact Glock 26.

"You ready?" Spike asked, glancing over at Sam. The two of them were in their harnesses and already leaning back off the edge of the rooftop.

"As ever," Sam muttered, drawing his Glock and readying it for their entry.

"All right Team One… hit it," Ed said over his radio.

Sam and Spike could hear the sound of a muffled blast resonate throughout the reinforced concrete interior—an indication that Wordy and Jules had tossed a flash bang into the first room before making their entry. They descended down just above the window sill with a single hop backward. Spike readied his own flash bang, showed it to Sam who nodded and then pulled the pin. "Flash out!" he shouted, and then deftly tossed the item into the window.

They waited a moment before they heard the boom echo inside the confined space then leapt backward and let gravity carry them through their respective windows. Immediately upon entry two targets presented themselves. Each officer expertly fired two controlled shots into the target's center mass. The targets folded down after being struck.

"Clear," Spike announced.

Sam repeated the call. "Moving," he added.

"Move," Spike told him, indicating he was cleared to take the lead and exit the room.

They popped out into the hallway and were once again forced to engage multiple targets that presented themselves suddenly. Each target, and the timing in which they appeared was controlled by Ed Lane who sat beside Sergeant Parker in a control room where they could view the events of the shoot via live footage from the cameras mounted throughout the house. It was an excellent tool for observing and evaluating a team's capabilities.

Sam and Spike continued their clear, fluidly sweeping into various rooms and engaging hostiles as they appeared. Several unarmed subjects popped as well, but none were engaged by the duo as they progressed through the course of fire that Ed had set up. He glanced over at Parker and smiled slightly as if to indicate this very thing was what Sam Braddock needed all along.

"Two coming up!" Jules announced loudly as her and Wordy progressed up the staircase nearby Spike and Sam. They would join the pair on the second floor in time to reach a t-shaped intersection at the end of the hallway.

"Come up," Sam acknowledged. Wordy and Jules fell in behind Spike and Sam respectively. The four police officers advanced down the hall with a pair on each side in what was referred to as a split stack. They arrived at the t-intersection quickly and provided cross coverage, the person on the wall provided security on the opposite hall, while Wordy quickly produced his collapsible field mirror. He poked it around each corner, but as expected no targets were presented. They all knew Ed would pop them when they made their move.

Standard procedure for a T-shaped intersection called for the team members to pop the corners and orient down both hallways simultaneously, eliminating any threats as they appeared. Sam looked at Spike and the two prepared themselves for the synchronized move. After a silent count to three they popped their corners with their respective supporting officers close in tow. Both were forced to fire on targets as they shot out from behind cover. A handful of gunshots were heard and then Spike's voice called out "Clear!"

Everyone else waited for Sam to repeat the call, indicating he had cleared his end of the hall of any threats. But he was silent. He stood quietly staring at the target that was still standing. His eyes were fixated on it and his pistol hung limply at his side.

Jules, momentarily confused, stepped out from behind her teammate so she could see what he was looking at. There, clear as day, was the target he had engaged. It was a standard bad guy holding a weapon up to a hostage's head. It was often used to practice shoot-no-shoot scenarios that often occurred in their line of work. Sam Braddock had fired two successive shots with a tight group. However, the two shots had struck the head of the hostage and not the gunman. Jules turned her attention to Sam was who shaking his head with abject disappointment. "Sam," she started, but he said nothing. He turned around, pushed past her and stormed out of the building.

Wordy and Spike crowded beside Jules to see what she had been looking at, hoping it would shed some light on why Sam had suddenly stormed off. They saw the two bullet holes clearly in what they all referred to as the t-box, or brain box of the hostage.

"Man," Wordy grunted, holstering his Glock.

Spike shook his head, attempting to think up some reason for Sam's inaccuracy so that he could follow his buddy outside and put him at ease. But there was nothing to say. What could he say? Sam's shots were perfect. The group was tight and it was accurate. It was exactly where you wanted to fire when aiming at someone who was holding a gun to someone's head. Striking them in the brain box meant severing the brain stem—it was truly the only off switch a human being had. But Sam had shot the hostage, not the shooter.

The team was silent as they exited the shoot house. Already they could see Sam off in the distance, standing mutely on the grass of the field they ran their requalification tests on. His demeanor indicated to each of them that he was distressed—they didn't need to be a profiler to see that. Before any of them could think to head over and comfort him Ed Lane briskly walked past them all in route to talk with his formerly stalwart veteran.


	10. Chapter 10

"Walk with me, Sam," Ed instructed as he reached the young sniper's position. Sam looked at him with agitation, but reluctantly followed his team leader. "You know I've been doing this job for a long, long time and sometimes it's hard to remember all the things I've done wrong—but there's one thing that stands out in my mind. Always has and always will." He stopped short of the chain link fence that hemmed in the training yard the SRU utilized. Sam stood quietly beside him.

"During the assessment phase when I tried out for the unit I scored very high in all categories of marksmanship, but my team Sergeant noticed I was particularly skilled with a rifle. Heck, I grew up using one so it wasn't such a stretch firing it as a police officer," Ed explained. He regarded Sam with a look that meant he was about to admit something to the young man that he often did not speak about. "So when I made the team they made me the lead Sierra. First few weeks were pretty quiet and then we got our first hot call.

"Same sort of situation as yesterday. Meth addict was going nuts outside a house and was holding a 22 caliber pistol to the head of his girlfriend's seven year old. I wasn't the only Sierra that day, but I was the only one with a shot. Team Sergeant told me to take it, but I hesitated," he uttered with a pause. His eyes were staring through the links of the fence out into the undeveloped lot beyond. Sam knew where this was heading, he could tell as much from the context of the conversation, but Ed continued. "I hesitated and the guy shot the kid. Killed him instantly. I had a heck of a time with that, Sam, a heck of a time. Sophie tried to talk to me, but she couldn't help and I had problems on the range for the next couple weeks. But you know what? My Sergeant and my team didn't give up on me and they didn't let me give up on myself either. And I learned and I decided then I was never going to hesitate again if another person's life was hanging in the balance. That hasn't been an easy choice to live by, but that's the job we signed up for, Sam."

Their eyes met and Sam reluctantly nodded, knowing that Ed was right. Yet the pain and doubt he felt was still there despite Ed's admission.

"It takes a 95% accuracy rating on the range to pass selection and requalification. You know why it's not 100%? Because no one is perfect all the time. We screw up, Sam. We make mistakes. The important part is that we learn from those mistakes to ensure they never happen again. We push ourselves—we become faster, stronger, smarter—whatever it takes to do our jobs better than before. I need you at your best Sam. I need you to overcome this because the team needs you. Understand me?" His eyes locked on Sam and were unwavering in their intensity. Ed Lane would brook no excuses. He would help you get through a hard time, he would talk to you and counsel you, but he would not accept a decline in operational capabilities for any reason. That was a liability and Ed Lane knew Team One could not afford liabilities.

"Yeah," Sam told him simply.

"Now, do you want me to arrange some sort of administrative leave for you to get your head right?"

"No. I got it," Sam asserted.

Ed clapped him on the shoulder—it was the most common form of physical contact one could expect from the man. He was inexpressive in that sense. He didn't believe in warm hugs or anything of the sort. It was firm words and minimal contact from the team leader. But his eyes said it all. "Good answer." And with that Ed Lane stalked off, leaving Sam with his thoughts.

Later on, after their gear and weapons had been cleaned the team was changing over in the response room. The day had drawn to a close and thankfully for Sam no call had occurred. The locker room was empty now save for him and Spike. The young man of Italian descent looked over at Sam as he finished dressing. "Look, man, I don't really care what's going on with you—I just want you to know I'm here if you need me."

"Thanks, man," Sam said in earnest. "I appreciate it."

"You know like if you want to go for a drink, or a bite to eat, or a movie or something. I'm always game, buddy," Spike insisted. "You don't have to talk about what's going on. We can just have fun." He smiled in that charming, goofy way he always did.

"You want to take me on a date, Spike?" Sam asked, loosening up a bit.

"I'm Italian, so you know I'll sweep off your feet," Spike chuckled. "Don't be afraid."

Sam laughed. "I was never much for the swarthy Mediterranean types," Sam admitted.

"Swarthy? Who is swarthy?" Spike asked, alarmed. "We live in Canada, man, nobody here is swarthy."

Both of them shared some laughter and Sam thanked his pal once more. "I might take you up on that."

"Okay man, I'll see you tomorrow," Spike said with a nod and a smile. Sam waved him off and he disappeared out of the locker room door.

A second or two later and there was a knock on the door. "Yeah?" Sam asked.

"You decent?" Jules questioned, poking her head in before he had a chance to answer.

"Would it matter if I was?" he teased, feeling better.

She grinned. "No. I was trying to sneak a peek actually," she confessed. "I'm coming over tonight. I won't take no for an answer, so either you're going to let me in or I'm going to breach your front door." She stared at him with a challenging glint in her eye. "I'm trained for that, you know?"

"Sure thing," Sam allowed. He wanted to see her. He knew that now, after the time he'd spent alone the night prior.

"Okay then, see you tonight," she said almost giddily, and then withdrew from the locker room.

Sam remained there for a few seconds and smiled inwardly. He was happy she hadn't given him the option. He wasn't sure if he was going to be stupid about it again and send her away.

Before Sam could leave he was halted by Sergeant Parker who approached him with a friendly face, but grave eyes which was enough to indicate he wanted serious words with his young subordinate. "About today…" Sam began, but Parker waved off what he was going to say.

"Sam, listen, I know you've been getting grilled over what has happened—by SIU, by Ed, and I'm sure you've been giving yourself a hard time. My intent isn't to exacerbate what's going on, but I'm here to tell you a couple of things," the team Sergeant said seriously, stopping in front of Sam's path. "We have a high standard to maintain here in the SRU, especially on Team One. We're the best tactical team in the city. Now as your team Sergeant my job is ruthlessly enforce that standard and ensure every one of you meet it. But I'm going to tell you as a friend, Sam, don't look to the bottle for comfort." He glared at Sam like a father who might be disappointed in a son.

Sam looked at him with a puzzled look. "Sergeant…" but Parker cut him off again.

"C'mon, Sam. You miss this morning's workout and you're two hours late for shift change over? I could smell you sweating the stuff out after the drill today," he accused with certainty. "Whiskey, I'd say. I've been there, Sam. And you won't find an answer at the bottom."

Sam gave it a moment and then let out a heavy sigh. He nodded knowingly; there was no use in denying Parker's accusation. The man was a recovering alcoholic. He would always be an alcoholic and he knew all too well what the bottle could do to you. It had cost him so much and it was only natural he wanted to protect Sam from those same mistakes. "You're right, boss. I honestly don't know what I was thinking. That isn't me."

"I know it's not, Sam. This is a tough time, I understand that. So I'm going to let today slide, but I don't want to see it happen again, okay?" he said evenly. Sam nodded. "You're going to get through this. The team is here to help—you know that right?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so if you've got questions…" Parker muttered.

"I'll ask," Sam guaranteed his team Sergeant.

"Good, because I don't want to have to kick your ass," Sergeant Parker threatened jokingly. He wasn't sure he could even if he wanted to. "Now get out of here, officer."

Sam acknowledged the order and made his way out of the building, greeting Winnie as he went. For whatever reason he was feeling better already. He couldn't explain why, but being there amongst his teammates had somehow been therapeutic. Doubt and pain still lingered, but it wasn't the same as the day before and he was keenly aware now more than ever just how important this team was to him.


	11. Chapter 11

"It's a good thing you opened the door," Jules said happily from behind a shimmering smile. Sam eased open his front door and Jules barged her way inside, as if any hesitation on her part might result in him barring her entry.

"Oh yeah?" Sam challenged.

"Yep, I brought a door charge and a halligan," she teased, referring to a specially designed tool used for forcing open locked doors. "I was coming in—the only question was how much property damage I'd cause doing it."

"I'm glad you didn't need either." He didn't doubt her. Jules was the most determined woman he knew.

"I brought wine," she told him, lifting a bottle of red merlot for Sam to see.

Sam feigned a severe grimace, "I don't have any cheese."

"It's fine," Jules assured him. "You'll just have to work extra hard to satisfy me." She immediately started to root around in his drawers looking for a corkscrew.

"Copy that."

The couple was bundled up against the cold Toronto evening on a chaise lounge out on Sam's patio. The city's lights were glimmering, casting an orange hue across the small balcony where Jules lay close against Sam's body—both of them staring into the starless sky. Two wine glasses sat, half drunk, on the small table beside them. They rested there in silence for a few minutes, merely enjoying the closeness of one another. Jules relished the moment, so tormented by her inability to comfort him sooner.

"I used to think about moments like this," Sam said suddenly.

"When?"

"Afghanistan," Sam told her, confusing her slightly. "I've never had anyone care about me- I mean _really _care about me. My first tour in Afghan I got a lot of packages from friends and family that were worried about me, but my second tour? Well, it was like surviving the first meant I was in no danger the second time around and I didn't get much of anything."

"Really?" Jules asked disbelievingly. The thought of it saddened her.

"Yeah. Other guys were getting letters from wives or girlfriends and they'd read each one over and over again. They'd smell the paper because their girls would spray their perfume onto the letter… stuff like that. It really made a difference for a lot of guys," Sam explained, his thoughts drifting back to days mixed with happiness and loneliness.

"That's so sweet," Jules told him, wishing she could have done it for him. She wondered what Sam was like then. She realized that despite all the time they had spent together there was still a lot she didn't know about, especially regarding his time in the Army. He had changed a lot since joining the SRU. When he first came along he still had the aggressive mindset of a soldier, more concerned with hard takedowns and the direct action approach. But he adapted fast to Team One's methods. "I'm surprised you didn't have a dozen beautiful girls writing you."

"I never really truly cared about anyone," he replied, taking a sip of his wine. "Till I met you at least."

It made her smile. Their relationship was so complex and sometimes that complexity made it hard. It had been so wonderful initially but after she returned to the team she insisted on a professional relationship. But it was too hard seeing him every day and always wanting more. She tried to find happiness with someone else, but the same problem that had plagued her for her entire life continued. She needed someone interesting. She faced immense challenges and possible death nearly every day and somehow going home to a man that spent his days behind a desk, or working construction was underwhelming. It bored her. She wanted someone that walked that death defying line with her. Sam was it. He was always it.

"What was it like there?" she probed. It was a question she'd never asked before. But she'd always wondered about it. Surely his time in Afghanistan had been a major contributor to how he developed as a man.

"It was hot," he said immediately. "And easier."

"Easier?"

"Yeah," he stopped for an instant in thought. "Civilians died a lot there. It was common, you expected it—you got numb to it. It was easy to rationalize, you know? It was a war. Not like this job."

She could understand that, but she felt as if he was being modest about it. She couldn't imagine his experiences there being easier than life as a cop.

"The Taliban would always fire on us from compound rooftops," he started, remembering all the engagements he'd been in. "They'd force the families to stay inside the compound so that when we called for air support and destroyed the position we would end up killing civilians. It turned a tactical loss into a strategic victory for them."

"Smart. Terrible, but smart," Jules admitted. She couldn't envision the complexity of what he had to contend with there.

"Yes, very terrible," he continued. "Kids were always stepping on IEDs too and their parents would bring them to our bases so we could help them."

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Sam," Jules remarked. She had seen children abused and injured- murdered even. It was the sad reality of their chosen occupation. The impossible task of protecting those who were open to abuse at any hour by those who had little regard for the sanctity of life was the harsh reality of a job that punished you emotionally more often than it ever made you feel good about your successes.

Sam was quiet for a few moments, then took a sip of his wine. "They used to kill them on purpose too."

"What? Who?"

"The Taliban or whatever local thugs were in the area. If they thought their parents were helping us or the government they'd kidnap their kids and kill them to make an example," Sam explained solemnly. "We pulled a lot of dead kids with slashed throats out of ditches and canals."

"That's ruthless," Jules observed in a heavy voice.

"Yeah, it's a completely different mindset," he remarked with vacant eyes, as if his mind was back in Afghanistan again. "But honestly there was something about the place I liked."

"Really?" Jules questioned incredulously.

"Yeah I mean… it's hard to explain. It was like when I got home I couldn't wait to go back. Most of the guys felt that way. Meanwhile people were saying 'I'm just glad you're back safe and sound', but it would bother me when they said that," he explained, trying to put sense to the words he spoke. "I don't know why."

"It couldn't have been easy," she added.

"No. That's why I became a cop," he told her. "There's a lot of grey over there. I thought being a cop would be more… more black and white. Easier to spot the bad guy and protect the good guy. Turns out it's a lot tougher than I thought."

"But you're good at it," she complimented. "One of the best. Not a lot of people can say that."

"Thanks," he said with a disbelieving chortle.

She shifted her weight and twisted her body around so that she lay on top of him, her stomach pressing against his. She propped herself up with her elbows, which she placed firmly on his chest and stared directly into blue eyes far too innocent looking for a man who'd seen so much. "You know what else not a lot of people can say?"

"What's that?" he queried, offering a puzzled smile.

She bit her lower lip. "Not many people can say they've impressed Jules Callaghan."

He laughed and looked away, partially embarrassed by her admission. "Is that right?"

"Yep," she beamed. "Officer Braddock—I have a crush on you."

"I should get a medal," he declared, fixing his eyes back on hers.

"You should," she agreed. "But I can think of something better."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she replied. She poked her tongue playfully out from between her smile. She climbed off of him and stood up, then offered him a hand to help him. "Come with me."

He looked at the offered hand, smiled and then took it. She hoisted him to his feet and led him inside. He realized then that she was right—he had enough medals already. This was definitely better.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam awoke to an empty bed. Jules had already headed in to work, as she often did in order to allay suspicion. Sam sometimes thought about how silly the charade was and that if their crafty tactics like arriving at different times and concocting stories about what they did the night before was ever enough to throw off their comrades. Here he was working with the best set of police officers in the city and everyday he and Jules tried to pull the wool over their eyes. Did they buy it?

Having her there the night before had been cathartic for him. The closeness of her, the feeling of her touch, her scent and the warmth of her body made every negative thought that entered his mind evaporate like dew on a warm morning. She had intoxicated him with her laughter and endeared herself to him with her sincerity. But more than anything it was the image she projected and the world that her presence created for them both. Jules seemed so innocent and so at peace with her life and the decisions she had made throughout her career. Sam knew she was not innocent, he knew she'd made tough decisions that had impacted her severely, but she was the definition of harmony and seeing that strength in her put his mind at ease. He was thankful she was back in his life.

The SRU headquarters facility was a hive of activity when Sam arrived and Ed immediately informed him they would be forgoing their morning workout because they had been tasked with a priority assignment. He motioned for Sam to follow as he briskly made his way to the briefing room. Inside the rest of Team One had already assembled, though they had not changed into their tactical uniforms. Jules was there too, sitting down and sipping a coffee and averting any notice of Sam's arrival. He realized then that she was wearing one of his t-shirts—it was an old shirt he used wear for working out when he was in the Army. On the back was a large sword that stood upright with half a maple leaf on one side of the blade and half the globe on the other. It was an unofficial symbol for JTF2 and would surely tip off their co-workers.

He was standing, frozen in place, eyes wide with momentary dread before Sergeant Parker's voice brought him back to reality. "Sam, you can take a seat," he instructed, looking at Sam peculiarly.

"Uh, right… got it, boss." He stalked over to a seat beside Jules. He tried to drag his chair closer to her but a threatening glance stopped him. Jules didn't want to draw any attention.

There was an officer in plain clothes standing at the head of the briefing room, a holstered 9mm Smith and Wesson rested idly on his hip. He was obviously a detective.

"Team, this is Detective Constable Barnaby with Guns and Gangs and he's got some work for us this morning," Sergeant Parker introduced the young, sandy-haired investigator.

"Morning," Barnaby greeted with a nod and nervous smile. He clicked on the television screen behind him, which illuminated a power point presentation he had created detailing an individual that he was no doubt tasking SRU with apprehending. "This is Jeff Morrow, real nasty fellow. Today you'll be executing a search warrant at his apartment and then you'll probably arrest him."

He pressed a few buttons on the tiny remote he held, which skipped a few slides detailing Morrow's criminal record. "As you can see he's got a pretty extensive sheet—he was basically a jack of all trades for whatever gang was willing to hire a little extra muscle. He did collections for protection rackets, acted as muscle for loan-sharks, enforcer for whoever was hiring, and an assortment of other wonderful activities. Then he got himself arrested for beating up an elderly man who refused to pay his boss anymore protection money. Stores cameras caught it all on tape. Did a few years, but as of a couple of months ago he's been out on parole. He _was_ behaving, but it didn't take him long to return to the dark side."

More slides were presented all showing Morrow in surveillance photographs where he appeared to be collecting money from prostitutes in a region west of downtown Toronto. "Then he started popping up on vice's radar. Looks like he's trying to set up a fairly ambitious prostitution operation in some low-rise apartments in Parkdale—Johns come to the low-rises and are serviced in fully furnished, albeit drab apartments that Morrow has somehow acquired."

"So why does Guns and Gangs want him?" Spike asked.

"We think he's paying a chunk of his profits earned by his stable of women to a local street gang who in turn protects his operation and provides him with more women, whom they recruit through intimidation, physical abuse, drug addiction, rape and so on," Barnaby described the alleged operation in detail.

As Spike asked this Sam edged closer to Jules and poked at her with a clandestine elbow. He had to warn her about the shirt she was wearing; maybe no one had noticed it yet. When she didn't stir he attempted to gain her attention with a quiet "Psssst."

The sound alerted half the team who glanced in Sam's direction. Detective Constable Barnaby was also looking at Sam, who had clearly interrupted his briefing. "I'm sorry, do you have a question?" he asked.

"Uh… no," Sam replied bashfully.

Barnaby nodded awkwardly after the disturbance and continued with his brief. "One of Vice's CIs is a woman that is in Morrow's employ, according to her he's got a pretty heavy assortment of firearms stashed away at his apartment. Since prostitution is legal, but street side solicitation is not Vice was interested, but they contacted us and figured the gun charges would net him more time because he's in direct violation of his parole," Barnaby explained.

"So we're executing a search warrant?" Wordy inquired, leaning back in his chair.

"That is correct. Now normally we could handle that but this guy is a big bruiser and he hates cops. So it's got the potential to be a very volatile situation when you mix that with a cache of illegal weapons," Barnaby responded.

"Especially when those guns are going to send him back to prison for a long time," Jules added.

"Exactly, so my bosses thought it best to seek out some assistance from the SRU," Barnaby stated.

"That's the right call, Detective," Ed said matter-of-factly.

"Truth be told I was looking for Team Three—I've got some experience working with them—but Winnie said they're already out," Barnaby told them with a smile.

"We're better anyway," Spike contended confidently.

"Okay Team One let's get geared up. Make it quick, we'll work our tac plan after," Ed ordered. The team grunted and rose to their feet in route for the response room in order to throw on their gear and draw their weapons. It would give Winnie an opportunity to pull up the floor plans of the apartment where Morrow was thought to be residing.

Most of the team was out of the room as Jules attempted to rise from her chair. Sam reached out and snatched her wrist, then tugged her back into her chair. She fell back quickly, her butt crashed into the chair with such force she almost fell backward. "What are you doing?" Jules demanded confusedly.

"You guys okay?" Barnaby asked, seeing the sudden grab and pull.

"We're good, just give us a second please," Sam told the nosy detective.

"Okay, no worries." Barnaby followed the others out, but walked over to the operator terminal where Winnie was working.

"What is it?" Jules asked looking slightly irritated by Sam's awkward behavior.

"You're wearing one of my shirts," Sam declared.

"This?" she questioned, looking down at the tight olive drab shirt. "But it's so tiny. I thought it was Natalie's."

"In my drawer?"

"Figured it got mixed in with your laundry. I don't know, what's the big deal?" Jules inquired. She pulled a bit of the fabric and sniffed it. "Smells like you—I like it."

"Jules the back of it has a symbol for JTF2—the boss or anyone on the team sees you wearing it and they're going to start getting suspicious," Sam exclaimed excitedly.

Jules eyes widened in a slight panic as the information suddenly donned on her. "Oh crap," she murmured. "Well I can't take it off in the middle of the office!"

"I know," Sam agreed, no matter how appealing the idea seemed to him. "Just take my jacket." He hastily took his jacket off and forked it over to her.

"Because that's not suspicious," she quipped, shaking her head.

"Just take it and get to your locker room. Total stealth," he commanded in his best team leader's voice.

She sighed at the absurdity of their current predicament. "Yes, sir!" she mimed a comical salute then put the jacket on and darted off toward the locker room.

Sam looked around the office like a man that had just committed a crime. He exhaled with relief. The coast was clear.

"Sam?" Ed's voice suddenly frightened Sam. Had he seen what unfolded moments before? Was the jig up? "You ready to rock and roll?"

Sam, feeling stupid now and realizing his mouth was hanging open in abject terror finally clenched his teeth together. "Yeah. Yes… yep… good to go, ready to go right now," he stammered. "Let's go."

Ed cleared his throat. "Okay, I like the enthusiasm, but you need to get dressed first."

Realizing his foolishness Sam nodded repeatedly, agreeing with his team leader. "Copy that." He trotted off toward the locker room to put his uniform and tactical equipment on.


	13. Chapter 13

The tactical plan was simple enough. Detective Barnaby had reiterated that the subject was a very sizable man that could easily become overly aggressive and violent so Ed decided overwhelming the subject with immediate force was the best option. Ed, Sam, Spike and Wordy would flood the small apartment and take Morrow down as quickly as possible. "Sam, you've got lethal if he gets out of hand," Ed assigned the task to Sam who waivered slightly at the idea. "The rest of us will go less than lethal. We flashbang the room, perform a mechanical breach on the door and use rubber bullets to bring him down."

"There could be other people inside. He usually has a woman or two in the apartment," Barnaby explained.

"Are they at risk?" Wordy asked.

Barnaby frowned. "They're more likely to put you at risk than vice versa. They can get pretty out of hand."

"How do you figure that?" Sergeant Parker asked.

"Vice observed a John who felt he'd been ripped off go to Morrow's apartment to complain, the woman attacked him while Morrow laughed," Barnaby replied with a shrug.

"Wow, I'm really excited to meet _them_," Spike jested.

"Okay, Wordy and I will take the subject—Spike you and Sam will deal with any additional subjects that are present," Ed adjusted the plan on the fly.

"Copy," Sam acknowledged.

Spike nodded.

"Jules," Ed began, looking to her. The group was hovering over floor plans of the building. "There's no back exit but there are windows that lead to an alley. There's only one way out of the alley so I want you to cover it just in case. Now this guy is big, Jules, so if you have to escalate you do it—I don't want you to taking any unnecessary risks."

"Got it."

"Okay team, let's keep the peace," Ed finished. The team nodded and headed for the garage to load up in their trucks. The morning was gray and cool and a tremor of excitement mixed with anxiousness resonated with every member of the team.

The four man element approached the apartment entrance stealthily. Wordy was in the lead with a Remington 870 loaded with rubber bullets- he would be breaching. Ed was just behind him, a ballistic shield clutched tightly in one hand and his Glock 17 in the other. Sam was next in the stack holding his MP5 submachine gun with Spike bringing up the rear.

Sergeant Parker, alongside Detective Barnaby, was coordinating uniformed officers to set a cordon around the complex without getting too close so as to spook the subject or any of his acquaintances. Jules ran west to skirt the outside of the apartment building and set up a blocking position at the end of the alley on the opposite side. One uniformed police officer accompanied her to provide backup.

When the stack positioned itself outside the door they could hear the sound of a loud television set inside the apartment. Ed signaled Spike to move up and use the flashbang. Wordy slung his shotgun and readied the battering ram he would use to break down the door—something he was especially talented at.

They had opted not to inform the man they were there and try to get him to go quietly given his illegal activity coupled with his personality and disposition toward law enforcement. To do so would cost them the element of surprise and allow him to barricade himself in the apartment and potentially take hostages. Even if the women were prone to defending him it didn't mean that he had any concern over their welfare.

Spike, bent over in a crouch, duck walked to the head of the stack so that he was positioned directly below the window that looked into the sitting area of the apartment where the television was blaring. He unsnapped one the pouches on his vest and eased a flashbang out. He displayed it to Ed who nodded. It was time to use it.

Wordy braced himself and prepared to swing the ram into the door the moment after the flashbang went off.

Spike pulled the pin on the flashbang then used the grip of his pistol to shatter a part of the window. If the subject inside was surprised the team had no way of knowing. Spike hurled the flashbang into the room. A second passed and a loud bang echoed over the television.

As soon as the sound erupted and the flash emanated through the shattered window Wordy heaved the ram forward. The large steel cylinder smashed into the door and splintered it with ease. The team aggressively stormed inside.

Ed rushed in first, shield at the ready. Wordy was hot on his heels, having discarded the ram he was aiming the shotgun into the room clearing his corners. There were shrieks and screams—other people inside—at least one woman in the kitchen. The subject was on his feet in front of the television, dazed and growling. His girth was and height were immediately noticed by both officers. With a thick head of brown hair and a considerable beard to match he looked more like an angry grizzly bear than a human being.

"SRU on the ground! On the ground!" Wordy shouted, his shotgun trained on the subject.

"Right there, let's see some hands!" Ed demanded. "Let's see some hands!"

Sam was the next into the apartment with Spike right after.

Ed, not wanting the man to escalate, nodded at Wordy to fire several rubber bullets. Two rounds struck the man, but he only howled and got angrier. He charged forward, slamming into Ed's shield. Ed fought back, pressing his weight against Morrow's formidable size, but it was no use. "Wordy, take him down!" he ordered as he struggled against the massive man. Wordy pumped two more rubber rounds into the man but he hardly seemed phased. It turned into a tug-of-war match between the subject and Ed with Wordy scrambling to get a bead on the man.

Spike was wrestling in the kitchen attempting to disarm and restrain a wild, knife wielding woman. She had short black hair and wore a ratty tank top and shredded jeans. Spike assumed she was on some sort of narcotic as she swiped at him frantically, then lunged forward trying to drive the blade into his stomach. He danced backward, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Geez, calm down lady," he half-ordered. He sprang forward and grabbed her wrist and the two went sideways into some dishes and cabinets as the woman flailed violently. He was able to shake the knife out of one hand but she cracked a plate across his skull with her freehand while his attention was on the blade.

Sam was clearing down the hallway when a turbulent blonde woman burst from the bedroom and struck him across the temple with a large bottle half-filled with vodka. Sam fell backward into the wall, temporarily dazed and the woman, wearing only a t-shirt and underwear sprinted off down the hallway to where the rest of Team One was engaged.

Wordy, his shotgun dry, joined Ed in attempting to subdue the subject. It was chaos as Morrow tugged and pulled at Ed's shield while the officer attempted to pin the man with all his weight. Wordy struggled to get a hold of Morrow from behind, but a swift elbow to the nose sent him reeling backward.

Ed's grip on his pistol failed and he dropped the sidearm, but was able to kick it away before Morrow could scoop it up. He attacked with his shield, swinging it wildly at the beastly subject. Morrow parried the blows with barrel-sized forearms. The grizzly went on the attack and got a hold of Ed, lifted him off his feet and threw him like a ragdoll out of the shattered window. Ed's body broke what glass remained in the frame as he tumbled outside. His shield lay motionless on the ground below the sill.

Wordy pressed back into the fray still dazed from the elbow strike. He struck the subject from behind with the butt of his shotgun, but it was no use. His weaker was for some reason and couldn't muster the same strength he knew he should have possessed. The subject spun about to face him and speared him like a professional wrestler—the weight of the two men carried them both into the television set which cracked and broke from the impact.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, just as Spike finally got a set of cuffs on the woman he'd been wrestling with he felt another blow to his skull. A mangy blonde woman had arrived from the back of the apartment where Sam was supposed to have cleared and had broken another plate over his head. In a fit of frustration mixed with pain after having one too many plates broken over his head, Spike spun around and punched the woman in the face. She collapsed into the table and he leapt at the opportunity to get her in cuffs. _I just punched a girl in the face_, he thought with complete astonishment.

In the meantime Morrow was throwing Wordy out the window just as Ed tried to climb back through it. Wordy's ample frame crashed into Ed and the two stumbled backward and fell down in a pile on top of one another.

Seeing his opportunity to escape Morrow hefted a sizable chair and threw it through the back window. The single-pane glass shattered and Morrow clamored outside it, cutting himself as he went. He fled down the alley like a rhinoceros on the run from poachers.

"Sam!" Spike was shouting as he was trying to cuff the woman he'd punched. He never figured he'd strike a woman, but this job always put him in awkward situations. "Sam the subject is getting away. Jules, subject is at large and he's in the alley headed your way. Ahhhhh!" Spike yowled as he felt a searing pain in his calf and whipped his eyes back to see the other woman he had cuffed. She had squirmed her way over on the floor and sunk her teeth into his calf.

Sam suddenly appeared in the kitchen. "Spike?" The scene before him was confusingly hectic. Spike was kneeling on Sam's attacker trying to cuff her, while an already cuffed female subject was lying on her belly amidst broken ceramic plates sinking her teeth into Spike's exposed calf.

"She's biting me! She's biting me!" He shook his leg violently. "Stop it! Stop biting me!"

He looked at the woman in a daze; her jaws were locked like a German Shepard in attack mode. Spike was still trying desperately to shake her off, but it was no use. Sam shook off the momentary lapse once he noticed the broken window and realized the subject was escaping. He ignored the woman assaulting Spike and sprang into action.

As he sprinted down the alley he could hear Jules over the radio. _"Freeze! SRU, get on the ground!"_ she commanded fiercely. _"I said stop!"_ There was a gunshot; the sound of it was unmistakable to Sam as it echoed down the alley.

Sam was still sprinting down the lengthy alleyway. "Jules," he yelled into his own radio. "Jules, talk to me."

"_He's got a gun,"_ Jules reported, followed by a staccato of gunfire. Sam could tell by the sound of each shot what was being fired. There were two distinctly different handguns and the sound of Jules' submachine gun.

"Hang on, I'm in route," he urged, huffing into his radio as he dashed further down the alley. Jules did not reply. There was another bout of heavy gunfire. Then there was only silence. "Jules, status!"

But there was no response.


	14. Chapter 14

Sam found the uniformed officer leaning against the wall with multiple gunshot wounds. He was struggling to apply pressure to a wound in his right shoulder and arm. His sidearm sat unused on the ground beside him. His lungs wheezed and his eyes sluggishly fixated on Sam as he arrived.

"What happened?" Sam demanded, taking a knee and assessing the officer's wounds. "Where is Jules?"

"He surprised us—had a gun," the officer mumbled. "He… he took her."

Sam whirled around toward a dumpster where spent shell casings sat idly. He could see Jules' MP5 submachine gun lying there as well and his mind went blank. Where was she? What had the man done? Sam felt panic spiraling around inside his body and he could barely contain himself. He had to find her. "Where did they go?" he demanded a bit too harshly of the wounded officer.

"To the left," the officer replied, motioning to an alley that branched off from the one Sam had run down.

"All units, 1033—say again 1033 officer down back here. Subject is at large," Sam alerted the rest of his team via the radio. "He's got Officer Callaghan."

He leaned over and helped apply pressure to the officer's wounds. "Just go. Go get them," the officer urged between winces of pain. "I'll be fine."

Sam looked at him with reluctance and wondered if this was the mistake that everyone said would inevitably occur if you got involved with a teammate—was this the issue of blurring the importance of priority of life?

"Go!" the officer reiterated.

Sam nodded, jumped to his feet and fled after the subject. The side alley he advanced down was not particularly wide and was littered with garbage and other refuse that impeded Sam's movement. As he moved further he could hear Jules struggling against the subject. He could hear him yelling at her to behave followed by her grunts as she tried to get free of him. He heard the man shout as if he were struck then there was a flurry of cussing and it sounded like Jules was being assaulted.

Sam finally caught up and saw Morrow dragging Jules to the best of his abilities. He towered over her diminutive size, but despite that Jules was giving him a hard time, she writhed every step of the way.

"Freeze!" Sam commanded in a seething tone. He did his best to sound like a professional law enforcement officer, but inwardly rage stirred and he could feel the aggressive mindset of a soldier taking over. This man was a threat and had to be dealt with. "I said stop!"

The mountain of a man stopped cold. He glanced back at Sam, looking malevolent behind a bloodied and considerable beard. He turned to present himself to the pursuing officer and dragged Jules with him. He held a nickel plated revolver to her head. "Let me go, pig," he urged. "Or I'll splatter her brains all over this wall."

Sam could feel his muscles tense up and his teeth clench tightly together. The threat worried him, but more than that it angered him. The panic from earlier had subsided, replaced now by an urge to make the man pay for his transgressions. His eyes looked intensely above the sights of his MP5. Jules' condition was grievous enough to boil Sam's blood.

Jules was clutched tightly in the man's grasp with the barrel of a gun pressed against her temple. She was bloody and battered. Jeff Morrow had gone to work on her. Blood ran freely from her nostrils, her lip was split and also bleeding. The left side of her face had been brutalized. Her left eye squinted from the swelling and bruises had already begun to appear. There was a glimmer in her eyes as she choked back tears of pain and desperation.

Despite her injuries, despite the pitiless agony the man had caused her, she attempted to appear brave—for Sam more than herself. She felt weak and she could feel the throbbing ache in her face and the pulsating burn upon her lip. Her knees wobbled and dizziness occupied her mind. But she saw Sam's eyes and an intensity there that he could hardly contain. She worried what he might do on her behalf.

"Give it up, Morrow," Sam urged through his clenched teeth. His eyes narrowed as he honed in on the brain box of his target. He could do this; he could shoot this man and end his life. He could put right the wrong that he had done to Jules. "It's over."

"_Sam, status? Talk to me, Sam,"_ Sergeant Parker barked over the radio.

"_Sam report,"_ Ed Lane echoed in his earpiece.

"Standby," Sam replied evenly, any sense of emotion or humanity had vacated the tone in his voice and Jules felt her heart sink.

"No way, cop. I'm leaving and I'm taking her with me." Morrow responded snidely. His lips parted into a malicious smirk. "Maybe I can put her to work and earn some real money."

"This is your last chance," Sam stated, his piercing eyes locked on their target. "I won't say it again."

"Yeah, whatever. You're not going to shoo—" Morrow's sentence was cut off by the report of Sam's MP5. The 124 grain 9x19mm Parabellum jacketed hollow point round exited the barrel of his submachine gun at 400 meters per second. It crossed the meager distance of fifteen meters in the blink of an eye before it struck its target.

Jeff Morrow's head snapped backward from the impact of the shot, which struck him dead center above the bridge of his nose. The 9mm round expanded when it impacted, penetrating his skull and eviscerating its interior without exiting the back of his head. His body immediately went limp, his tight grip slackened on the nickel plated revolver and it dropped harmlessly from lifeless fingers. His bodyweight collapsed faster than Sam's bullet had hit its mark. He fell backward into a mass of his own musculature—quiet and still.

Having been released Jules fell forward and dropped to her knees. Blood dripped from the wounds the subject had caused her, pooling upon the dirty concrete below. Her hands were planted firmly upon the ground and her eyes were drawn to the bright red fluid. She could feel the relief wash over her body and with it came the pain associated with her injuries. The danger was gone and so too was the adrenaline that had protected her from that pain.

Sam ran to her and swiftly kicked aside the subject's discarded firearm. He slung his MP5 to free his hands. He knelt down and used his freehand to gently cup Jules' chin. He raised her eyes to meet his; concern was boldly implanted within them and compassion too. He choked back the sting and in a tremulous voice asked "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she strained to say between breaths as she fought to control the agony she felt in her face. She leaned back and took up a sitting position.

Sam wrapped his arms around her and pressed her face close to his chest. Some the blood rubbed off on his uniform but he did not care. All that mattered was that she was safe. Nothing else in the world made a difference in that moment- not the past, not the future only that moment mattered to him.

She could feel the warmth of his body through their uniforms and relaxed in his closeness. She reveled now in the protection he provided—the very same protection she had so often reviled and avoided felt so good now as she felt his breath upon her head and sensed his breathing alongside her own. His presence did so much to lessen the hurt.

"_Sam, I need an update,"_ Parker chimed in once more, there was real concern in his voice. _"Report."_ His words were spoken with labor and Sam could tell he was rushing to their position, most likely with the rest of the team.

"I need EMS here, right away. The subject is down. I've neutralized the subject," he explained between breaths. He still held Jules tight against his body. He had become the soldier again. He had casually tossed aside the police officer, the negotiator, the profiler and the reasonable man. He had assumed the mantle of attacker, defender- the violent operator.

His eyes looked to his work and he glared without remorse at Jeff Morrow's lifeless body. With another breath or two he said: "Jules is safe."

And that was really all that mattered.


	15. Chapter 15

The debrief ran long as it always did after the team was forced to use lethal force. They had to wait for Sam's lengthy talk with SIU to end as well and when he entered the briefing room clad in his civilian clothes they looked to him with concern.

"How'd it go?" Sergeant Parker questioned, easing his chair to the right so he could face the newly arrived officer. He spun a pen deftly around his fingertips in anxious anticipation.

"They said the investigation is still pending," he murmured. He looked down, feeling absurdly abashed for his actions. His eyes attempted to locate Jules clandestinely. She sat at ease in her normal chair across the table, though the side of her face was bruised and swollen. Her heart impressed him. "They had me turn in my gun and badge. They said administrative leave until they finish up. Probably concerned over another shooting so soon after the last."

Sergeant Gregory Parker nodded knowingly. "Don't worry, Sam. They'll figure it out and get it right and you'll be back with us in no time. I'll make sure of it." And Sam knew that he would, because he was an exemplary leader that cared more about his subordinates than about his own personal circumstances. "Why don't you take a seat?"

Sam nodded; his eyes met each individual of the team who regarded him with suspicious disquiet. He could tell what was at work behind those eyes—each of them wanted to know what was going on in his head and if he was doing okay. He wanted to tell them the truth—he wanted them to know that he was fine and that he had done what he had to do in order to protect Jules. He'd said as much to SIU. He explained to them how the subject had resisted and been violent inside his home before attempting escape by shooting one officer and taking another hostage. He reasoned the violence and extreme use of force demonstrated by the subject necessitated use of lethal force on the predication that Officer Callaghan was in grave danger.

Parts of that were true and others were a stretch of the truth. Jules had been in danger, that was undeniable, but answering yes when SIU asked if all other options were explored may not have been true. Certainly Sam had urged the subject to drop his weapon and give up, but he knew inwardly he hadn't exhausted all of his options and he hadn't waited for his team's arrival which would have expanded available options to end the situation without further violence. But Sam didn't wait for that—he didn't want to. The old soldier had welled up inside him and he responded to violence with violence. It was against everything he had learned as a police officer. But he felt fine about it even now, there was no remorse or regret. SIU was suspicious of the circumstances and they were probing deeply into the matter to see if there was a breach in protocol.

"Alpha element makes entry, we identify two subjects immediately, both are hostile," Ed Lane's procedural tone broke Sam's quiet reflection. He was going over the day's events as was standard operating procedure after any call. "Officer Scarlatti moves to subdue the first subject, who is an enraged female located in the kitchen to the left of the door which we made entry through."

"She broke a plate over my head," Spike put in, scratching the back of his head.

Ed continued unfettered. "At this point Officer Wordsworth and I move to subdue our primary subject, Jeff Morrow. We attempted to incapacitate with rubber bullets and use of the ballistic shield. Officer Braddock continued to clear the remainder of the apartment at which point he was accosted by another enraged female who struck him with a bottle of whiskey."

"It was vodka," Sam corrected coyly.

"Correction vodka," Ed amended. "Second female subject joined the chaos in the main room by assaulting Officer Scarlatti who had managed to restrain the first female subject."

"She also broke a plate over my head," Spike announced. "And I punched her." He was still in disbelief over that.

"At this point primary subject does not respond to rubber bullet engagement and escalates, getting more violent with Officer Wordsworth and myself," Lane continued. "And after throwing us both through a window… subject escapes down a back alley."

"And a female subject bit me," Spike interjected.

"Yes, a female subject bit Officer Scarlatti," Lane confirmed.

The event would be funny had Sam not had to kill a man at the end of the evening. Bad guy or not, the tone to any debrief was always a muted one after they had to take a life. Maybe someday they would look back on it and laugh.

"Officer Braddock pursued subject into the alley. Officer Callaghan and uniformed Officer Lee engaged the target with lethal force after he produced a weapon and fired on them. Officer Lee was struck several times and Officer Callaghan moved to render aide. Subject took the opportunity to advance on Officer Callaghan while she attempted to staunch Officer Lee's bleeding. She was forced to drop her weapon and was taken by the subject," Lane explained in a monotone voice as if he took no pleasure in recounting the day's events.

He continued on, explaining how Sam had found Lee who refused aid so that Sam could pursue the subject and get to Jules. The reason given for Sam's shooting was repeated, the same official line he had given the SIU. "The subject was violent and hostile and had already shot one police officer. I wasn't going to let him shoot another." His eyes set on Jules, his heart injured by the state of her bruised and beaten face. Jules returned the gaze. The exchange was not lost on Sergeant Parker.

The team was not naïve; they knew Sam Braddock too well. They understood him to be the calm, collected professional that was seasoned enough to make the right call at the right time. Sam Braddock could push the envelope and let a situation develop—if it meant risking his own life. But they knew it was different if the life being risked was Jules Callaghan. None of them could fault him, however, and were simply pleased to see that the man had returned to his former self. He had saved Jules and exercised whatever self-doubt had manifested itself in him after shooting Katie Moore.

There was silence in the room afterward as Sergeant Parker finished the last of the after action review and placed the paperwork in a folder that would be filed away beside every other hot call Team One had ever taken part in.

"So… how about we go for drinks at the Goose?" Spike asked the room. The expression on his face was one of stupefaction as his eyes darted back and forth guiltily, like the question might get him in trouble.

"I don't know about that, Spike," Ed Lane confessed.

"Look, I had a woman bite me today. Bite me," he reiterated keenly. "I had to get a tetanus shot. Do you know how painful those are? And not one plate ladies and gentleman, but two, were smashed over my head."

"That's why you wear a helmet," Ed submitted with a grin.

"Must have left it in the truck," Spike shot back. He hopped to his feet and positioned himself behind his friend Sam Braddock, then rubbed his shoulders with emphasized pressure. "Our boy is back! C'mon. Let's go."

The team exchanged looks and nodded. It was the right call. As negative as the day had been each of them realized Sam Braddock was back in his true form. Whatever had brought it on, whether it was bad or good, had to be celebrated. He hadn't slipped away like many of them had thought that he might. Drinks seemed appropriate. Everyone voiced their agreement on libations.

Spike jogged out of the briefing room excitedly, followed by Lane who moved with some reluctance. Sergeant Parker still lingered in his chair, noting how Sam Braddock stood by the room's exit waiting for Jules to make her way around the table and join him.

"Anything I need to know about?" he asked suddenly. He still twirled the pen in his fingers. His chin was raised and his eyes were narrowed with suspicion.

Sam and Jules stopped in their tracks and looked at their Sergeant. "No, boss," Sam said resolutely.

But the couple could tell Sergeant Parker didn't buy it. His eyes said as much. But all he said was "Okay".


	16. Chapter 16

_My bad on uploading the wrong chapter, I don't know what happened =/. _

_Author's Note: Okay, so in typical Flashpoint fashion this final scene should be read with an appropriate song playing in the background to set the tone. I really like it so if you want to play it in the background while you read then I highly recommend it. watch?v=4Fr5-16ZnPM_

Jules finished buttoning up her shirt and happened to glance toward the mirror just as she did. She crossed the empty locker room and gazed into the mirror, studying the image she saw there. She could still feel the pain that boiled through the side of her face and it was ugly. Her left eye was barely more than a squint now as the swelling had gone up. The bruising had come too, now a darker coalition of purple, blue and black blots. Her lip was still split and dry.

She glanced around at the empty lockers surrounding her. The room was cavernous and at the moment monumentally lonely. During such times it was hard for Jules, she could feel the immense, cold room that surrounded her and felt lost or empty within its confines. It was an odd feeling to have because she loved her job and she loved this place, but as she fathomed what had been done to her she felt hurt and alone. She choked back those feelings, believing them to be toxic and destructive.

She rubbed her shoulder and the back of her neck, brushing aside some stray tendrils of hair. She remembered the bruising on her back after she leapt to save a young jumper that had slipped off the media tower at the local mall. She had smashed into the side of the building's structure with great force and it left her body battered as a result. But that was the job. It was also one of the first physical connections she and Sam had ever shared. She smiled at the thought.

Sam Braddock was the center of her universe, but she couldn't tell him that. He understood that she cared and they shared a special bond she thought was unique amongst couples. They understood each other in the sort of way people said kindred souls did, but she couldn't believe in such trifling romantic notions. The simple fact was that they both shared hardship and risked their lives and it was the common ground that they met on. The duality between Sam's immediate readiness to be a killer on the behalf of good and the soft, caring way in which he held her in the late hours of the night was what made him special to her. It was that unexplainable feeling in the pit of her stomach that she could not put into words. She wondered how long they could carry on their charade. And she questioned whether she could let go of a career she had strived for and worked so hard to attain for the man she loved so dearly. It was an unfair question to have to answer.

Suddenly there was a knock on the locker room door. "Come in," she advised.

Sam Braddock entered, clad in a t-shirt, jeans and a black military style coat he often wore. He approached with a sheepish demeanor, his hands tucked into his pockets, feeling awkward for the decision he had made earlier in the day. He wanted to explain, he had to explain, but for whatever reason he felt as if Jules would not accept that explanation.

Jules watched him intently. "Thank you… for today." Her lips parted slightly and a soft breath escaped. She felt her heart rate increase ever-so-slightly and giddiness welled up inside her. It was that feeling once more, the one she couldn't put words to that she experienced in his presence. She was almost nervous and felt like a puerile child for it. She had faced death and uncertainty, but facing those blue eyes always seemed like so much more.

He cracked a reluctant grin. It was not a happy one. He stopped short just in front of her. His loving blue eyes surveyed the damage Morrow had done to Jules' face and his expression contorted into a façade of regret. "Jules," he muttered softly. "I know you always said you don't need to be protected and that you don't want anyone to make exceptions for you or carry your weight, but I had to do what I did today."

Jules pressed her lips together tightly anticipating what he might say next. "I know," she offered quietly.

His hand reached out and traced the swollen bruises on the left side of her face. "When I saw you… when I saw what he had done—it broke my heart," he lamented. She knew it was true, she could see it in his eyes. "And I got mad and I ended it for him." He didn't know what else to say. He couldn't offer a better reason. Was it enough to justify taking another human being's life? He could only hope she would not judge him harshly for his decision. It would hurt, but she needed to know the truth of the matter.

She nodded; her eyes lowered toward the ground and then ran up the length of Sam's body. She closed the distance between them both and locked her fingers into his belt loops then tugged him closer. He leaned forward and their foreheads touched gently together. He gazed at her, bruises and all, with intense care and relief. Her eyes were still fixed toward the ground, but they slowly rose to meet with his. Their faces were close; they could feel one another's breath upon their skin. They hovered in the moment there, enjoying it for what it was, quietly basking in their proximity to one another.

Sam's gentle touch danced across her bruised skin down to her jawline then ran the length of her slender neck. She could feel his calloused fingertips upon her skin, tracing her collarbone gently. Then Sam pressed his lips against hers and they shared a kiss. It was not passionate in the sense of raw animalistic desire, but rather it was as if a longing had been sated. There was relief behind the act like the two of them had feared separation or the destruction of that special thing they shared. But it had somehow survived and they could celebrate it now—far away from probing eyes.

Their lips separated and Sam pulled back just enough to look Jules deeply in the eyes. They shared the gaze for a time, and then felt awkward for lingering too long. They both laughed bashfully. Neither of them was good at expressing emotion, it was a side-effect of their job and perhaps a reason why they both felt so comfortable in one another's arms. They enjoyed the cliché cheesiness of moments like these, even if it made them laugh and feel silly.

"I'm not going to let anyone take you from me, Jules," he told her seriously. "I'll do my job. I'll be a professional—I'll respect the priority of life… but if someone puts their hands on you like that…" his voice trailed off and he shook his head.

She nodded, understanding his innate need to protect her. That's what Sam was, a warrior and a guardian. He had joined the Army to fight for his country and to protect it and its people. And he had become a police officer seeking a purer, simpler form of that same urge. Neither of them was certain he had found it, but in this he had. It was easy to step forward on Jules' behalf. There was love there and it didn't matter whether Jules wanted, or needed the protection. Sam was always going to provide it. There was no questioning that. She could accept it, if not for her own sake then for his because she felt something real for him. Something she had never felt for anyone else. And she had to recognize that, even if she had doubts about the complex nature of their relationship she could not deny what she felt. To do so would be a mistake and she could not suffer another bad decision like the one that had led to their first separation.

She pecked him on the lips once more. "We should probably get going," she said. "The Goose waits for no man."

He smiled. "Yeah, I think I owe Spike a drink or two anyway."

"Why's that?" Jules asked with a perplex leer.

"Uh," Sam began hesitatingly. "I saw that woman biting him while he was trying to cuff the other one and…. I didn't help him."

Jules broke into a laugh at the thought of it. Sam felt guilty for it, that was obvious, but it was funny nonetheless. "Oh," she blurted and suddenly stopped and scampered over to her locker. "Almost forgot to give this back to you." She fished Sam's jacket out of the locker and held it up for Sam to grab.

Sam looked at the jacket and shook his head. "You wear it. It's cold outside," he told her and then he wrapped an arm around her shoulder as the two walked toward the locker room exit.

Sam may not have been the same as before the fateful accidental shooting of Katie Moore and there would be days yet to come where he might question his actions or vividly relive the moment that cost the young mother-to-be her life; yet the important thing for Sam now was the thorough understanding of how important he was to the team and the individuals that made up that team- especially Jules Callaghan.

_The End! I hope you guys enjoyed this story and I really hope I could do the characters justice. I really want to thank everyone for their reviews as well as for reading through this sixty page short story lol. I was surprised at how easily this story flowed out of me, normally I run into blocks or lose inspiration but I was able to crank through this pretty quickly. I think I'll continue with some more Flashpoint content soon. Thanks again! _


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